Vivicendium
by CrashingPetals
Summary: Vivian Blair is the sum of everything Sirius hates: an elitist Slytherin prefect. Pranking her is something he takes great pleasure in, but this time it will have unforeseen consequences. He should know better than to toy with Fate, for the more love poems he writes, the less of a prank they become, and the more Fate seems intent on getting some revenge of its own. Sirius Black/OC
1. Ad Meliora

_Full Summary: Vivian Blair is the summation of everything Sirius hates: a prefect, a pureblood, and a Slytherin. It doesn't matter that she makes a half decent Seeker, has an unnatural obsession for reading muggle books, or even that Lily thinks she's a reasonable human being. Vivian is just a bitchy Slytherin who likes to call him a blood traitor and give him detentions. Fortunately, he has an idea to get back at her for everything she's ever done to him. Unfortunately, this idea of his will have consequences that he could never have anticipated. He should know better than to toy with Fate, for the more love poems he writes to Vivian Blair, the less of a prank they become, and the more Fate seems intent on getting some revenge of its own._

_Welcome to Vivicendium! The majority of this story will focus on the Marauder days, but will eventually encompass Sirius's imprisonment, his escape, and his reinduction into society. The main plot of Vivicendium will cover Voldemort's initial rise to power and the blood division. __This first chapter is set fifteen years ahead, when Sirius has escaped Azkaban. We will then move backwards in time to Vivian and Sirius's seventh year at Hogwarts, and build the story from there._

_Disclaimer, even though the term 'fanfiction' is a disclaimer in itself: I do not own Harry Potter._

_Warning to anyone who doesn't like slow burn stories: you will definitely get impatient with this one._

_Without further ado, I hope you all enjoy :)_

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**Chapter One | Ad Meliora**

**[Better things]**

Number 12 Grimmauld Place is exactly as he remembers it to be: dark and depressing. As a boy, Sirius hated this place. His parent's strict prejudices had been nothing short of stifling when the atmosphere of this once-grand house had been at its zenith. These aspects of it haven't changed in the least. Years of misuse and isolation have made the entire place even more dismal. Dust layers every surface, so thick and stagnant that the very air is heavy with the scent of desolation. His parents, too, have left their mark. They may not have a physical presence here within these dreary walls, but every room is filled with memories better left to the wayside. If that isn't enough, his mother's screeching voice hasn't changed at all; it has merely been transferred to a new medium that is still just as loud and as harrowing as he remembers it to be. In short, as a man, Sirius still hates this place.

At least it's better than his eight-by-eight square foot cell. Better than the hard, cold stone floor that served as both bed and chair. Better than the excruciating feeling of having the last traces of his happiness sucked out of him, leaving him as little more than a husk of his former self. Better than the desperately long nights with only the rats for company, resigned to the fact that he is paying for another man's crime, that his name and his reputation are sullied beyond repair, and that every person he had loved in the life he'd lived before thinks that he is the most vicious, deplorable traitor to ever walk the earth.

It is better, especially now.

"I'm hoping Harry will take this room," he says, sending Remus a sidelong glance as they pause in front of an empty bedroom on the third floor. It needs a lot of work, of course. The entire house does. A renovation is necessary, but it's nothing a little magic can't fix.

Sirius shrugs and, as he turns to the next bedroom at the end of the hall, adds, "If he wants to stay with me once my name is cleared, that is. I mentioned it to him, but we didn't have the chance to talk about it."

No, because then time had run out, and he had to escape with Buckbeak before the alarm had sounded and the dementors were sent after him. Harry and his friends had to return to school, and Sirius had to go his own way. Nearly two years on the run has done a number on him, but he can't complain. Living in the wilderness, with only the fresh air and Buckbeak for company hasn't been easy, but it was better than his Azkaban cell. It was better than this, too, if he's being honest. Moving into Number 12 Grimmauld Place was Dumbledore's idea. It's the only safe house he could think of that would successfully keep the hordes of Ministry Aurors away. Dumbledore had been of great use, ensuring that additional wards had been placed on it, but the place had already come equipped with complicated safety measures – his father had made the place impenetrable when he was still alive – so it had been the obvious, if not least appealing, option.

In any case, it's about to be a little bit more appealing, especially if Harry does take him up on his offer. Even if he doesn't, though, at least he won't be totally alone. Remus chuckles and follows Sirius down the hall to the door that he's now swinging open.

"I'm sure he'd love that," Remus tells his long-lost friend, and peers into the room. His eyebrows raise skeptically at the sight he's met with. Singed wallpaper, several inches of dust, moldy bed sheets, and curtains that were most likely white at some point, but are now a suspicious coffee color. There are cobwebs in every corner, and the subtle chattering of many Doxys coming from the suspect curtains, their buggy black eyes peering out at them from between the folds of fabric.

Scrunching his face a bit, Remus hesitantly asks, "Is this my room, then?", and hazards a glance at Sirius, who looks just as hesitant.

"…Er," he hedges, and shrugs indelicately. "Well yeah, I guess. You'll have to, you know…clean it up a bit." He shoots an apprehensive look at the curtains, but doesn't draw attention to them beyond that. Then, turning back to Remus, he shrugs innocently.

They stare at each other for a long moment, teetering between doubt and apathy, and then Sirius's mouth twitches. The silence lasts only a few seconds longer before they both burst into a laughter so strong that they have to catch themselves against the threshold of the door lest they fall.

"Oh Merlin," Remus bemoans, tilting his head back as if in prayer. "I think it would be better to just set fire to it all and start over."

Sirius is entirely unoffended by this (he does hate this house), and snorts, "My dear old mum would have a few things to say about that. Which reminds me – no loud noises or that damned painting of hers will start in with her screeching."

Remus cringes immediately at the reminder. He's already witnessed that a few more times than he cares to admit. The irate rambling of a prejudiced dead woman is not exactly the nicest sound, especially since he falls into one of the categories that she loathes the most.

Half-breed. As of late, the Ministry has been making life even more difficult to people like him, which is part of the reason he had asked if Sirius would be willing to put him up for a while. It has always been difficult for him to get by in the wizarding world. Getting a normal, respectable job was the bane of his existence, once, and even these days, he can hardly find a suitable place of lodging without the landlord fearfully tossing him out once he realizes what, exactly, Remus is. He'll admit, though, that this isn't the only reason he'd asked to come here. After all, Sirius is not the only one who finds Number 12 Grimmauld Place to be less than satisfactory.

One of his best friends, who had accepted him without pause, who had become an illegal Animagi just to keep him company during his transformations – his old friend, who has spent twelve long years in an Azkaban cell for a crime that he did not even commit – is here, and alive, and is not the traitor that Remus had once thought he was. How could he not want to support him, when Sirius would have done the same – indeed, _had_ done the same – in a heartbeat?

"Maybe I'll sleep on the couch tonight," Remus mutters, casting a wary glance at the moldy bed. At least the couch downstairs has already been cleaned (sort of) and would make for a slightly better alternative until some work can be done in here.

Sirius cringes out his agreement and says, "Probably a good idea. Cleaning isn't my forte, you know."

Remus's mouth tilts up a bit at this. He snickers, "Neither is cooking, so I'm very hesitant about being housemates."

This doesn't seem to offend Sirius, either. He just shrugs agreeably and responds, "Well, Kreacher isn't a star cook, but he hasn't poisoned me yet." Then, under his breath, he mutters, "I'll bet he dreams about it though."

The grumpy house elf often makes himself scarce whenever Sirius is nearby, loathing the company of the 'murderous, blood traitor son' that has shaken the family's reputation so thoroughly. Sirius is just as happy for it. He can't be in Kreacher's presence for more than a few minutes before the elf's foul mutterings put him in an equally foul mood.

In truth, Sirius has never really had to cook for himself before. At Hogwarts, the hundreds of house elves had made the food. He obvious hadn't cooked in Azkaban. As for the time between his school days and the years spent behind bars, well…he knows a thing or two in the kitchen, at least, but only because _she_ had been such an awful cook.

Oh, he had eaten his fair share of questionable meals with her around. Overcooked vegetables, burnt dinners…he hadn't known it was possible to ruin scrambled eggs until she somehow managed it one morning. One time, she'd even set fire to the dishtowels without even being near the stove. She'd promptly blamed it on him, of course, shooting him a narrowed look that was no doubt summoned because his first reaction had been to break out into laughter. When he closes his eyes, he can still recall in stark clarity how thoroughly impressive her glowers were. She always did have the remarkable gift of setting her sharp brown eyes into a hellish glare – a byproduct, no doubt, of her particular upbringing.

He chuckles absentmindedly at the thought, and Remus raises an eyebrow to ask, "What's so funny?"

The question immediately makes Sirius pause. Past and present collide, spinning together with such vertigo that he is forced to grip the dark paneling on the threshold with tight fingers. At once, the memory of her drifts out of his mind's eyes, scattered to the winds of fate. She is not here in this house. She is nowhere to be found, and yet – everywhere, always.

"Ah…nothing," Sirius mutters, and clears his throat as he pushes off from the wall. His mood, which had been surprisingly jovial moments before, now falls into such a formidable gloom that Remus feels it as if it takes physical form – a rain cloud that claps with thunder.

Remus also has a feeling that he knows what the reason is behind it's coming, but he chooses to remain silent. In his experience, any topic that revolves around _her_ is destined to be caustic in some aspect. She'd always had the most startling ability to make Sirius crazy in more ways than one, stoking within him both fire and anger; insanity and joy.

"Let's see what's in the cupboards," Sirius says, starting to make his way to the stairs. To be honest, he isn't sure why Remus had wanted to live here. He isn't sure why Harry would want to, either. This place is a hellhole that has few redeeming qualities to it. It's dark and depressing and filthy, and Sirius hates it with everything he is.

But – well, it does possess one redeeming aspect, at least. It makes an ideal headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, though it hasn't yet been made into a gathering place. Dumbledore is still tracking down the other Order members and informing them about the new location. As Secret-Keeper, that job is his alone, and since the current members of the Order are scattered around the wizarding world in various organizations and positions, he has to be discreet in his dealings with them lest it garner unwanted attention.

The pair silently heads downstairs to the kitchen, which is just as filthy and dismal as the rest of the house. As Remus heats up the kettle for a cup of tea, he starts catching Sirius up on the recent events in his life. Namely one Nymphadora Tonks, who happens to be Sirius's second cousin or some such thing. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been no more than a girl, but apparently she's grown into a fine young woman over the course of twelve years. He doesn't linger too long on this thought, though. It doesn't just make him feel old, but also far more removed that he'd like to admit.

"I met her when she joined the Order," Remus is saying as they sit together at the long table in the kitchen. He smiles sadly and murmurs, "She's so convinced that she's in love with me, even though I've tried to dissuade her from the notion…she could do so much better."

Sirius raises an eyebrow at his old friend – the only one he's got left – and says, "Ah. I've heard those words before."

Remus casts him a sidelong glance and sighs, "We're not teenagers anymore, Sirius. Nymphadora is young and lovely." He shakes his head. "She would regret tying herself to me. I'm too old for her. Too dangerous."

Leaning forward in his chair, Sirius slips his hands around the mug of tea that Remus had made some minutes prior and responds, "We're not that old, Moony. We're only thirty five, for Merlin's sake. Crazier things have happened."

It'd odd to think about his age. Some days, he feels like he's twenty one again, on top of the world and living on the very edge of life. Others, he feels like an old man, as if twelve years equates to fifty.

The warmth of his tea soaks through the ceramic mug. It is a luxury that Sirius has still not gotten used to, even though he's been out of Azkaban for a while now. It is the simple things in life, he had quickly decided, that he has missed the most. A warm bath, a home cooked meal, laughter and company; little privileges that he hasn't had in twelve long years. And – Remus. A friend. A person who knew him in the times _before_. Before his name was dragged through the dirt; before he was accused of murdering his best friends; before every single plan he had ever made had vanished between his fingers within the span of a single night.

An age has passed from then until now, and yet he has found that some things have yet survived the test of time. Remus's friendship, for one. His friend's lack of confidence, another.

"Look," Sirius says, eyeing his friend carefully. "Your…condition has never mattered. If there's someone out there who loves you, you shouldn't be sitting around here with a washed-up bachelor like me. You should be out _there,_ living."

It is a conundrum swept up into a thunderstorm, these words, because if he could, he'd be out there too. Dumbledore had been a great support, keeping him under the radar and out of the public eye. Even if he has to live within these dark walls for the foreseeable future, at least it's an improvement from the cell that he still sometimes thinks he's in, late at night when his nightmares keep him awake and all the unstable hope he has cultivated since his escape is washed away. Still, he'd be lying if he claimed that he's happy about his current living conditions. Sometimes it feels as though he is little more than a ghost left to haunt the halls of his youth, and the memories of his teenage self creates a bitter backdrop that he cannot be free of.

Remus sighs again. It is a heavy sound.

"You know it isn't that simple," he murmurs, lifting his eyes to study his long-lost friend. Quietly, he thinks that Sirius is wrong. Not just about pursuing Nymphadora, but also the other aspects of his words. Sirius has never been a washed-up bachelor. This persona that he hides behind is merely a glamour; a veneer made of smoke and mirror. It is a safety net and nothing more. Besides, even after twelve years spent in the worst place on earth, Sirius Black has not lost his remarkable good looks.

Age has crept into his face, of course. There are creases around his eyes that had not been there before, and the pallor of his skin is more ashen. His hair is duller and his eyes are darker. There is a haunted aura about his countenance that is obvious to anyone who looks at him, but even though it is a far-cry different from the boyish happiness of his youth, Sirius is still just the same as ever. Age may have altered him, and his experiences may have changed him, but he is not a washed-up anything.

"Your tendency of overthinking everything hasn't changed at all," Sirius mutters, but his voice is light and the words clearly not meant as an insult.

Remus chuckles a bit. Sirius's personality isn't very different either, when it all comes down to it.

They fall silent. The creaking noises of the house invade their small sliver of peace. It is a windy evening, and even now the windowpanes rattle and an eerie atmosphere falls upon them. It is subtly construed of a great many things, this eeriness, though not all of it is bad. Gloom, to be back in this place that had been the epitome of his youth; surprise, to be sitting at this table with Remus of all people, as if nothing has changed at all; flimsy hope, that the course of his life might change and that his name will be cleared; and more, too many things that fill the silence like heavy weights dropping one by one into a vast sea.

"There's going to be a meeting at the end of the week," Remus informs him after several minutes. "Dumbledore will be attending."

The Order – that, too, has changed. New faces have joined the ranks. Sirius used to know every single person involved, but these days, he recognizes only a handful of names.

Sirius stares into his tea for a long moment, thinking about the Order, both past and present, and then slowly says, "It'll be good, having some life in this hellhole."

Remus pauses, but ultimately agrees. It is a bit of a hellhole, in several ways. He had only just arrived that day, and though he had heard plenty of stories about the grandeur of this place back during their Hogwarts days, it's difficult to picture how it was before it had fallen into such disrepair. As for Sirius himself, it's been several weeks since his own arrival, and any relief that he had felt upon reentering the house of his youth has since then dissipated entirely. It's one thing to be grateful to have a safe place for which to bunker down until his name is cleared; another to be forced to live in the very manor that had been the bane of his existence when he was a teenager.

Sirius is itching for something to happen. He's never been the most patient man alive, but sitting around at all hours of the day has been a true test to his spirit. He should be used to it by now – sitting around doing nothing is basically how he's spent the last twelve years, after all – but the feeling is quite different now. Now, he can be useful. Now, he can make the most of the good fortune that has finally come around to grace him.

"Moody's still in the Order, I take it?" Sirius asks, his voice purposefully light. He doesn't truly care to know the answer, if he's being honest. Moody was and still is a great Auror who had taken Sirius under his wing once upon a time, before fate had dealt him a harder hand, but the true nature of his inquiry actually has little to do with Alastor Moody himself.

Before Remus can respond, he leans forward to dig around in his pocket, and pulls out a photograph that he'd found in his old bedroom. It's folded in half and wrinkled. He smooths it open on the table's surface and passes it to Remus. Age has made the coloring fade into a dull sepia tone, but it doesn't take anything away from the image.

Remus looks positively delighted to see it.

"Where'd you find this?" he asks, and chuckles, "We were all so young…ah, and there's James and Lily…" He trails off with a fond smile, the trace of sadness clinging just so to his eyes as he looks at the smiling image of his old friends.

Sirius leans forward to look at the photograph too, and says, "Found it while I was cleaning up my room, trying to get the permanent sticking charm off the posters of those girls on the motorcycles." He pauses to send Remus a grinning shrug, undoubtedly a halfhearted attempt at admitting that he may have been a bit too headstrong at some points of his life (some, mind you). Then he continues, "It was slipped behind one of them. I have no idea how it got there."

The mystery makes Remus's eyebrows lift. "That's strange," he responds, thumbing over the edge of the picture. If he's being truthful, he can think of one person who might have left it there. One person who had spent some time in this house after Sirius had been taken to Azkaban. He decides not to say anything about it, though. Sirius would of course have questions, and Remus isn't sure that he's the right person to provide the answers he'd likely demand.

Thankfully, Sirius doesn't seem to hear the strange tone of his friend's voice. He's too busy gazing down at the photograph. A nostalgic expression subtly overcomes his face, and the corner of his mouth tilts up just so as he peers at the familiar faces he used to know. It's depressing to think that more than half of the people in this picture are now dead, including his best friend, so he tries to push the thought away.

"Moody is still in the Order," Remus tells him in answer to his previous question. He pushes the photograph back to Sirius. "He's retired, but his experience will no doubt be useful."

Sirius hums, sounding a bit disinterested. It doesn't take Remus very long to figure out that he really only wants to know about one person. If his apathetic response isn't enough of an indication, his eyes are trained almost exclusively to one person in the photograph. He doesn't even seem to be aware that he's being so obvious, but then again, this doesn't surprise Remus either. He's always been able to see right through Sirius when it comes to her, even back in their school days when Sirius had claimed to loathe the very ground she walked on.

To be honest, Remus has been waiting for him to ask about her for ages now, ever since their initial reunion at Hogwarts. They hadn't had much time then, but now, they've got plenty of it. Still, Sirius has been oddly close-lipped about the questions that are clearly spinning through his mind. Perhaps he's afraid to ask. After all, he's already gotten a less than stellar taste of how many things have changed since he's been locked up. Twelve years is a long time, and this particular topic is even more caustic than most.

What does one do, when one reemerges into the world after years of being isolated from it, only to find that everything that had once been familiar has long since disappeared? The world has changed without him. Sirius Black has been left behind, and all his friends and loved ones have gone on ahead. How does Remus explain that everything is different, these days? How does he tell him that the woman he used to love – still loves, if his ardently nostalgic eyes are any indication – has changed, too? Surely, on some level, Sirius must already know this, but to hear it said aloud is quite a different matter.

Remus stares at him carefully, and very slowly says, "…You can ask, you know."

The words make Sirius immediately stiffen. When he lifts his gaze to meet his, it's painfully obvious that he's a little embarrassed to have been called out in such a way. Remus almost wishes he could retract the statement entirely.

Clearing his throat, Sirius pushes the photograph away and mumbles, "I'm…not sure that I want to."

Sometimes, it's easier not knowing. Sometimes it hurts less.

Remus looks down at the photograph, where a pretty young woman is leaning against Sirius. She's smiling one of her rare smiles – the ones that are unexpected, because they make her entire countenance so vivacious and inviting. She looks perfectly content to be right where she is, if not a little austere. She'd felt that she had never quite fit in with their group, no matter how many times Sirius had told her that she did.

The younger version of Sirius, who stands beside her with his arm slung around her waist, looks down at her as if he thinks she's the most incredible creature in the world. It's a similar expression to the one that the older version of Sirius now has as he glances into the window of his past.

Remus looks away. For some reason, it almost feels like he's encroaching on an intimate moment. It's odd to think that way, and yet…

"She'll be at the meeting," Remus quietly informs him, and watches Sirius cringe a little. With a frown, he wonders, "…Is that a bad thing?"

Sirius Black doesn't much like talking about his feelings, but, well, Remus has always been the quiet, enduring friend, and Sirius finds that it isn't so very hard, saying what he says next.

"It's not bad. It's just that…I'm sure she's still as gorgeous as ever."

"So?"

"So the thought of being in the same room with her after all this time is…"

Remus knows that he should tread delicately around this conversation, but he can't help but raise an eyebrow and ask, "Are you scared?"

Sirius Black, being scared of a girl? Impossible.

Sirius doesn't much appreciate his friend's question. He narrows his eyes at him and mutters, "Look at me, Remus. I'm a washed-up old man who spent half his life in the most notorious prison on earth. The entire wizarding world thinks I murdered my best friend, and…" he trails off, muttering the last of his sentence beneath his breath.

Remus leans forward in hopes of catching it, but Sirius's mutterings are too quiet for him to hear.

"…And?" he pries.

Sirius sighs in frustration and snaps, "I'm not the same man I was before. I'm not handsome or innocent or young. I'll bet she's moved on a long time ago, but I haven't. I haven't moved on, Remus."

A large part of Remus wants to point out that Sirius Black has never been 'innocent', but he holds back this sarcastic comment. It isn't the right thing to say at this moment in time. Not when his usually closed-off friend is actually admitting that he doesn't think he's part god. Sirius has never been overly arrogant, per se, but his confidence has always been like a magnetic field drawn around every part of him.

Remus runs a hand through his hair and turns to study his friend. Sure, Sirius might not have the same youthful glow that he once possessed. His face has aged somewhat, both from the passage of years as well as the difficult experiences he's been through. But still…

"Like you said, we're only thirty five, Padfoot," he says, purposefully using his old nickname in hopes that it might make him smile. It does, thankfully. Sirius glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching up just so, and Remus chuckles.

But then, in a more solemn tone, Remus tells him, "I don't know what's in her heart. She's always been hard to read, as you know." Sirius hums in dry agreement and opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Remus quickly adds, "She's missed you. I do know that much."

Falling silent once more, Sirius cautiously looks over at him as if he thinks that Remus is lying, but his friend merely murmurs, "She's not _that_ hard to read, when it all comes down to it."

Indeed, she's always been a conundrum; a windstorm swept out to sea, stirring the skies and the oceans with a ferocity like no other. Soft but hard; stubborn but pliant. It's been fifteen years since the fateful day of Sirius's arrest. Since his name had been dragged through the dirt. Since everyone had been convinced that Sirius Black is a murdering traitorous bastard. Fifteen years since she had lost him, and cried for him, and missed him. It doesn't matter that she'd done it by herself, away from the eyes of everyone around her. Remus had noticed. Of course he had.

"Merlin, I've missed her too," Sirius whispers, lowering his head into his hand and returning his gaze to the photograph.

The sight of her smile makes his heart shake, even now.

A conundrum, yes, that is a good word to describe her. She is a mixture of polar opposites. A mystery carefully tucked just out of sight. A tornado of good and evil and all the shades in between.

Sometimes, it amazes him when he thinks about how much they hated each other back in Hogwarts. It amazes him still, that the icy Slytherin had fallen in love with the spurned heir of a noble pureblood legacy. Blood traitor, she had called him, so many times. He had hated her for it, and in turn, she had hated him.

Fate is strange. Sometimes, its course is insensible, and yet at the end of the day the pieces of its broken picture fit together with such a startling accuracy that it can be nothing _but_ sensible. The broken pieces that shouldn't fit suddenly do, with such precision that you can hardly believe a time in your life when they hadn't.

And the catalyst that had thrown them together? The broken piece that had changed that course of fate? Well, that is a story that truly begins at the start of seventh year, when Vivian Blair had given him a detention before the train had even left King's Cross station.

As many things do in the life of Sirius Black, this story starts with a prank.


	2. Auctoritatis

**Chapter Two | Auctoritatis**

**[Authority]**

_Fifteen years ago_

Platform 9 ¾ is bustling, but Vivian Blair barely notices. Her mother is fussing over fixing her robes and her father is grasping her shoulder tightly, and she is far too preoccupied with standing up straight and glancing around in hopes of catching sight of a head of white-blonde hair to care overmuch for the swarm of other students.

"I don't see him," Vivian sighs impatiently, much to her mother's amusement.

In a delicate voice, she replies, "Perhaps he's already on the train, darling." She barely pauses a moment before hurrying on with a carefully unconcerned, "You know, Lucius Malfoy would be a wonderful – "

"I've already told you, him and Narcissa have a thing. Besides, he's rotten," Vivian adds with a grumble. She should know better than to complain about Lucius Malfoy in front of her pureblood parents, but sometimes she can't help it.

Her father tightens his grasp on her shoulder and leans down to murmur, "Your mother and I will be making arrangements for you, Vivian. Don't cause any trouble this year. It's your last chance to make a good impression."

Vivian stiffens, but doesn't argue. She gives her father a terse nod and falls silent. It isn't as if she can go against these 'arrangements' anyhow. Like every good pureblood daughter, she will have the same fate as the next. For her to be married off into a respectable family is the hope of her parents. Her entire life has led up to this one goal. She has been groomed for it. By the time her seventh year at Hogwarts comes to an end, she will immediately begin the next stage of her life. It has all been planned out from the day of her birth, and it isn't possible for her to verge from that path.

In this moment, as she stands there and waits for the Hogwarts Express to shuttle her back to school for her final year, she truly believes that. Little does she know how everything will change in the course of said year.

"Oh, there's Lucius! I'll say goodbye to you now, then," Vivian hurriedly says, turning back to her mother to give her a brief embrace. There is little love behind the action. The sight of Lucius Malfoy's blonde head and black robes is all Vivian is focused on.

She cannot know, in that moment, how drastically her entire world will be altered in the coming months. As she steps away from her parents to intercept Lucius before he can board the train, she is utterly blind to the changes that will soon sweep into her life.

They say that fate works in mysterious ways. Perhaps it does. Perhaps her overpowering desire to catch Lucius before he disappears on her is just some altered twist of that mysterious force that presses into her, guiding her forward. Or – perhaps what happens next is merely due to the clumsiness of one Peter Pettigrew, who gets right in her way as she storms forward. She's glad that her parents aren't the type to stick around, because when she stumbles into the boy and ends up flying flat on her face in the middle of the station, she does so with such impeccable gracelessness that it almost seems divinely orchestrated.

"O-oh, s-s-s-sorry – "

"You _idiot!"_ Vivian snarls, pushing herself back up with a scowl. Pettigrew is one of those people who she just cannot stand. Besides being a clumsy simpleton who seems to lack even the smallest shred of common sense, the boy is friends with those aggravating Gryffindors who are always getting into trouble and picking fights with the Slytherins. If that isn't enough to make her loathe the very ground he walks on, he also creeps her out. There's just something about him that makes her grimace with disgust. Maybe it's his small black eyes or his jumpy reflexes, or perhaps it's merely the fact that wherever he goes, he is rarely alone.

"Wow, that was wonderful," a snickering voice says to their left, just as Vivian is contemplating whether she should hex Pettigrew or just leave him to stutter out where he stands. The voice that speaks up, though, quickly dashes any desire she has to leave. As if it is a physical force that burns through her, the voice makes Vivian straighten up immediately. Her chin lifts, her gaze narrows, and when she turns around to face the two boys who are standing side by side only a few feet away, she feels the snarl on her face become several shades darker.

Sirius Black and James Potter. The two people at Hogwarts that she'd like to hex to kingdom come.

Potter mimics her fall, being particularly dramatic about his swinging arms. As he pretends to stumble, Black breaks out into a deep laugh at her expense. Pettigrew is quick to step over to them, wringing his hands anxiously as he peers at her. No doubt he's half expecting her to throw caution to the wind and pull out her wand for proper payback. If he thinks that Potter and Black will protect him, he's dead wrong. They might be _loyal Gryffindors,_ but there's only so much protection one can offer against Vivian Blair, especially this year. Things have already begun to change, which she is quick to point out when she crosses her arms and smirks.

Instead of hexing anyone and risking getting caught, Vivian just drawls, "You may want to be careful this year, boys. I could give you a detention right now if I wanted to."

The words make them pause in confusion, until they realize that she's wearing a telltale badge on her robes. The way they blanch at the sight of it would have amused her, if they don't overcome their hesitation so damned fast. What is it they say? That Gryffindor is the home of the brave? More like the home of the stupidest, most aggravating people on the planet.

Sirius scoffs and leans against his trolley with a careless smirk. "Prefect? Dumbledore must be off his rockers to give _you_ that title. Either way, it doesn't matter. See, James received a similar honor too."

Vivian raises her eyebrows in confusion, until she sees that Potter is wearing the exact same badge, only his has red details while hers has green. As she studies it, she realizes that there is one other difference to said badge. One rather _major_ difference.

She narrows her eyes and sneers, _"You?_ Why would _you_ be appointed Head Boy? You're obviously going to use that to wreak more havoc around the school. I doubt you even know what responsibility means."

Her words seem to bounce right off of them, not that she's surprised. Potter laughs and drawls, "And you do? Last year you probably hexed three dozen students just for looking at you the wrong way. If anyone's gonna use this power to wreak havoc, it's you."

Well he isn't entirely wrong. Vivian does have a bad habit of hexing people who wrong her, but she doesn't do it randomly like they do. The Marauders (or whatever it is they call themselves these days, stupid boys) are just plain bullies. They go after anyone who's dressed in Slytherin green no matter who they are or what they've done. Half the time, they haven't done anything at all. Apparently, just wearing emerald is crime enough for them. She hates their guts for it – no matter that some of her housemates deserve their ire. It's the principle of it all.

"It wasn't three dozen," she snaps. "Besides, they all deserved it."

She should know better than to get into an argument with the likes of them, but they just aggravate her so much.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sirius drawls, glowering at her as he crosses his arms. "What'd they do? Insult your family? Call your father a Dark Arts fanatic? I've read the Daily Prophet article they just wrote about him – "

"Shut your mouth, Black, if you know what's good for you," Vivian tells him darkly, lurching forward a step and sending him the most intense glare she can summon.

How dare he speak about her father that way. He's crossing a line in bringing him up. The one thing about Sirius Black, though, is that he doesn't much care for boundaries.

With a mean smirk, Sirius shrugs, "I heard he's joined the Death Eaters. Is that true, Blair? Are you gonna follow in daddy's footsteps too?"

She's shaking with anger now, and everyone but Sirius seems to realize that he's gone a bit too far. Potter puts a hand on his shoulder and mutters something to him beneath his voice, but Vivian doesn't hear what he says. Blood is pumping through her head, pulsing in her ears. Every second her anger grows to levels unfathomable.

"…Is everything okay over here?" a quiet voice asks. Vivian snaps her eyes to Remus Lupin, who has just joined the group.

Wonderful. Now all four of them are together.

"Ah, Remus. We were just having a heart-to-heart with Blair over here, after she stumbled spectacularly over Peter. You should've seen it," Sirius smirks, catching Vivian's eye.

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Her fingers are itching to grab her wand, but she can't get into a fight right here in the middle of the station, and they know it. She could be expelled, and her parents would be absolutely furious with her.

"Lupin," Vivian says with a stiff nod, still trying to pull in her anger.

It doesn't do much good. Sirius obviously knows that she's making an effort to calm down, and that's never fun. His mouth draws into a wide smirk when he pushes her by saying, "Blair here was just explaining what she plans on doing after Hogwarts. She's gonna join up with her daddy and get branded. She was just bragging about it."

And just like that, her anger returns tenfold.

"You've just scored your first detention, Black," she hisses, reaching up to straighten out her robes. Her mouth curves into a sneer of her own, but unfortunately it doesn't have much of an effect on Sirius. Neither do her words, it seems.

With a barking laugh, he repeats, "Detention? Really? I'm not sure why you think I'll _actually_ listen to you."

She raises an eyebrow at him and shrugs, "You have to listen to me. I'm a prefect. If you don't, I'll just keep piling more detentions on you and you'll never graduate." She pauses, then sneers, "I guess that wouldn't be so awful though, seeing as you've got absolutely no plans once this year is over. I suppose you'll probably try to live off of Potter for as long as you can, since your family kicked you to the curb. That's the smartest thing they've done, if you ask me."

His hands clench into fists, and she feels a sense of victory rattle through her. Bringing up his family always gets him going. She knows that well enough by now. It's always the clearest path towards revenge.

"You bitch – " he starts to say, but Remus quickly shoves him back and says in a louder voice, "Congrats on becoming a prefect, Vivian. We should probably go round up the others. We've got a meeting in the first car that we shouldn't be late for."

Vivian would never admit it, but she's always found Remus to be a half-decent sort of person. She's never understood why he hangs around with Potter and Black. He's far too intelligent for the likes of them, and he has much more common sense, too. Still, she's a little annoyed at the way he's constantly trying to break up the fights that his friends get into. It's like he feels responsible for them or something. It aggravates her.

She huffs and says, "Are you coming, Potter, or does Black need a shoulder to cry on?" She spears Sirius a mean look and snidely remarks, "I know how pathetically sad you get whenever you remember how much your family hates you."

Maybe she's got one thing in common with Sirius Black after all. She doesn't always care for boundaries, either.

Sirius narrows his eyes at her. He looks about ready to rip her head off. She can see even now that his hand is itching towards his robes, no doubt intent on drawing his wand and wreaking a little havoc on her. He can certainly try it, but this year she isn't one to be crossed. The thought makes her feel a bit more invincible than she probably ought to, considering who exactly she's dealing with.

After all, there are other things besides hexes that Sirius could use to get her back. She's been on the receiving end of plenty of his pranks over the years. His general dislike of the Slytherin house at large has always been the main reason that she hates him, but certainly not the only one. Her primary reason goes much further back than that.

Regardless of why her hatred is so intense, Sirius Black is narrow-minded. Incapable of seeing the bigger picture. He thinks that everyone who wears the Slytherin insignia is evil.

He's a stupid boy.

"I'll make you pay for that," Sirius mutters to her, and as he turns on his heel and hauls his trunk to the train, Vivian has very little doubt that he will do exactly that.

Well – let him try. She's never been afraid of Sirius Black, and she never will be.

* * *

Vivian finally tracks down Lucius. He's in the last car of the train with the other seventh year Slytherins. She breaks off from Lupin and Potter the first moment she can. She doesn't want to be seen with them any more than she absolutely has to. She's got a reputation to uphold, after all.

"There you are. I heard you had a run-in with Potter," Lucius drawls when he sees her. His arm is slung around Narcissa Black's shoulders and he's got a bored look on his face. His prefect badge gleams in the afternoon sunlight that pours through the train's windows.

They've only just left the station, but everyone is already lounging around as usual. Morrigan Flint is a few seats down with her new boyfriend, currently locked in a heated embrace that doesn't seem to be ending in the foreseeable future. Theodore Avery and Adrian Mulciber are at the end of the car with their other mates, Evans Rosier and Severus Snape, and it looks like they're discussing something dark as they push their heads together and speak in quiet undertones. Other familiar faces sit around as people chat about their summer holidays and other mundane things.

Vivian sends Lucius a shrug and throws herself into the seat opposite them.

"I gave your cousin a detention," she tells Narcissa, who rolls her eyes at her.

In the airy but self-righteous tone that Narcissa has perfected, she replies, "I doubt he'll listen to you. He hates authority, especially of the Slytherin kind."

Vivian just shrugs and drawls, "He has to listen to me. Haven't you seen my fancy new badge?" She casually throws her arm over the back of the seat and turns her body so that the green and silver prefect badge catches the light just so, glinting prettily from her robes. Narcissa smirks at her and nudges Lucius, who just shakes his head as if he thinks Vivian's blatant show is childish.

"You're going to be ruthless this year, aren't you?" Narcissa muses. It isn't really a question. She knows full well what Vivian's answer will be. It's no secret that Vivian and Sirius have always butted heads, and over the years, their dislike has steadily grown into extreme loathing. Of course, Narcissa is one of the few people who know the real reason for said hatred. She was around back when they were all children, after all, and was there to witness the inevitable ruination of their previously neutral relationship. Needless to say, it is no longer neutral.

With a smirk, Vivian twists a strand of her chocolate brown hair between her fingers and breezily says, "Payback's a bitch."

"So are you," Lucius mutters, and Vivian kicks him in retribution. She's not offended though. Lucius is one of her own, and to make it in the Slytherin house means you've got to have a strong backbone and plenty of insults ready to drawl at your friends.

"We've got to meet the others in the first car for the meeting," Vivian tells him after a moment, and he sighs. He obviously doesn't want to leave his comfortable spot. He does look rather cozy, shucked up against Narcissa as he is. The two of them have been together since fifth year and everyone expects a proposal before graduation. It's like they were made for each other. They're both self-righteous, arrogant, and blonde. Their relationship is no doubt the reason that their parents aren't trying to marry them off to other people before graduation. No doubt they're hoping that their children will just naturally fall into place.

Vivian's a little jealous of it, if she's being honest with herself. At least they get some semblance of a choice, unlike her. She has no idea who her parents will choose for her. Their first choice had failed epically, so they'll most likely want to ensure that their second choice will be perfect. For them, anyway.

"Roselyn, keep Narcissa company while I'm gone," Lucius barks, and stands up. He straightens out his robes and promptly sweeps from the car without another word, and Vivian rolls her eyes at him before following. Roselyn grumbles but doesn't argue as she takes the seat next to Narcissa. The pair of them are friends, sort of. Vivian has stopped trying to understand their strange love-hate friendship for ages now. One day, Rose and Narcissa are best buddies and the next they hate each other with a passion. Today it seems that they are on good terms, for they immediately start launching into gossip as Vivian pulls herself up to follow Lucius.

They push their way through the younger students rather effectively. Vivian knows it's because of Lucius's reputation. He's a bit of a bully, really, and he's not afraid to make it known to anyone who crosses his path. He also has an interest in the Dark Arts and is always going on about some cursed object or another. He calls himself a collector, but Vivian thinks it's idiotic and a waste of money. Not that Lucius Malfoy is lacking in coin.

In any case, when everyone sees him coming, they move out of the way immediately. Vivian has the express advantage of walking behind him, where there are no obstacles in the form of bodies to navigate around. Unlike him, she doesn't bother sneering at the students that she passes. Lucius does enough of that for two, and besides, her face already hurts from all the sneering she had done to the Marauders.

When they arrive at the first car some minutes later, it's already full of prefects and the Heads of house. Vivian takes her place beside Lucius and looks around at the new faces. She doesn't linger very long on Potter or Lupin, who are leaning against the windows near the other Gryffindor prefects. Lily Evans seems to have been made Head Girl – unsurprising – and Potter is apparently enamored by this – also unsurprising. He's been throwing himself at Lily Evans since first year and he's got a thick skin. He sort of has to, considering how often she rejects him.

To the right is a group of Ravenclaw prefects, who are sitting together, and some Hufflepuffs are on the far left. Her and Lucius join the Slytherins by the doors. As she steps towards them, Vivian nods at Evans.

"Had a good summer, Evans?" she wonders, and throws a sharp glance at Potter when he gives her a weird look and possessively wraps his arm around Lily.

The girl immediately throws it off and cordially replies, "Yes. And you?"

Though Vivian has never said it out loud, she's always liked Lily Evans. She thinks it probably has to do with the way the girl is able to put Potter in his place like no one else can.

She opens her mouth to answer her, but Potter scoffs, "I'll bet Blair's had a great summer. Probably got a lot of pointers from her father in the Dark Arts – ow, Lily, you've got a sharp elbow!"

"Shut up, Potter," Lily hisses, and Vivian rolls her eyes.

Luckily, none of the other Slytherins had heard Potter's words, otherwise she's quite sure they would have had something to say on the matter. She'd rather not get into an inter-house argument before term even starts. She certainly doesn't want to be the one to hold her classmates off. They would surely question her loyalties if she tried to save Potter from getting beaten up. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but it would take too much willpower to stop her housemates from hexing him.

"I had a wonderful summer, thank you," Vivian frostily says, directing her words to Potter. She gives him a narrowed look that he easily returns, and then glances back to Lily and adds, "Congratulations on being made Head Girl. I'm not sure how Potter managed it though."

Lily grimaces and mutters, "Me neither," much to Vivian's amusement.

She smirks, and James glowers at her as if he thinks that Lily's response is entirely her fault. As if. She doesn't need to do anything to make Lily hate James. He's annoying enough to make that happen all on his own. She'd probably be annoyed too, if a boy constantly shouted out his love for her and waylaid her in the halls with bouquets of flowers. Not every girl wants that kind of attention. Lily seems to have a solid head on her shoulders – another reason why Vivian thinks she's not so awful, as far as Gryffindors go.

The meeting takes nearly an hour and a half. They're briefed on their duties and responsibilities, which include ensuring that the younger students of their houses are taken care of, nightly patrols, correct disciplinary actions for various situations (at this, Potter gives Vivian a glower, no doubt remembering how she's already used her power to give Sirius a detention), their right to take house points if the circumstances call for it, and other things that coincide with their status. Most of them have been prefects for several years now and already know their duties, but Vivian does not.

Once the meeting is finished, Vivian is eager to return to the Slytherin car for the final hours of the journey. She doesn't wait for Lucius this time and is one of the first to duck back into the hallway. She isn't the only one who is looking forward to getting some peace and quiet, though. It seems that today, Vivian is fated to run into people, because as she's slipping out of the door, she stumbles into none other than Regulus Black, a fellow Slytherin.

"Oh – sorry, Black," she says, and then makes a face at the use of his surname. Since it's what she calls Sirius almost exclusively, it feels strange to use it to refer to his younger brother.

Regulus Black is a sixth year student, and because he's a year below her, she's rarely ever had a reason to talk to him. He's also one of the only Slytherins that Sirius Black will speak to, though their conversations usually escalate into some argument or another. Hardly surprising. The brothers never see eye to eye, but since they're related, they share a bond that isn't so easily broken even after the fiasco of Sirius leaving home a year or so ago. The entire school had been talking about it when it had happened, so it's fairly common knowledge now. Then again, everything that Sirius Black does is common knowledge. He's the most prized bachelor in school. Girls drool over him and boys wish they had the casual, devil-may-care charm that he possesses no matter the situation. She's honestly surprised that he doesn't have an official fan club.

Regardless, Regulus is as different from Sirius as the moon is from the sun. He's much quieter and prefers to keep his own company rather than spending time with the other Slytherins, though lately he's been hanging around with Avery's group. He's friendly with the rest of the house of course, but far less out-spoken about pureblood lineage despite the friends he has. Since he's a sixth year student, Vivian has only hung around him in the common room or during meals, and only occasionally in those instances. They run in similar circles, but have never felt the need to get to know each other better. He was appointed prefect in his fifth year and is seemingly much more responsible than his brother. On the surface, at least.

Regulus glances up at her from beneath the curtain of his black hair and shrugs. "No problem, Blair."

He slips off without another word, his robes sweeping behind him as he makes his way to the sixth year car. Vivian watches him as he walks away, but doesn't wonder at his strange solemnity. To her knowledge, Regulus Black has always been quiet and non-descript, with a very dry sense of humor that he rarely uses.

Shrugging it off, she heads back down the length of the train to the last car, where her classmates are sitting. Narcissa and Rosalind are still where she'd left them an hour and a half before, chatting away about their summers. When Vivian slides back into her seat across from them, the pair glances up at her.

"How was the meeting?" Narcissa wonders, raising a pointed eyebrow at her.

Vivian pulls out a book from her bag and replies, "Boring. James Potter made Head Boy, can you believe it?"

Rosalind makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat, and sighs, "Head Boy? Really? You're so lucky, Vivian."

Not knowing what on earth Rosalind is talking about, Vivian gives her a confused look and asks, "Lucky? Are you serious?" She opens her book and flips it to where she'd left off.

The title reads_ 'A Dictionary of Hexes, Vol V'_. Keeps her housemates off her back.

Rosalind's expression fades into a dreamy look. "Of course! James Potter is gorgeous. I've had a crush on him and Sirius since first year."

Vivian feels a little sick upon hearing this remark, though admittedly not very surprised. Still, she makes a point to glance over at Rosalind with a disgusted face, and Narcissa laughs.

"Even _you_ have to admit that they're good looking, Vivian," Narcissa chortles, and then clears her throat when she sees Lucius heading back to their cabin. When she catches sight of Vivian's grossed out expression, she smirks and murmurs, "I've always thought that your intense hatred of my cousin was because you wanted to pull him into a broom closet and…" she trails off, her tone full of insinuation.

Vivian's mouth drops open. She stares at Narcissa as if she'd just told her that she thinks the sky is orange and splutters, "Broom closet?! _Sirius Black?"_

Rosalind giggles and leans into Narcissa to whisper, "I've always thought that, too."

Oh Merlin. Her two friends are delusional. She's always thought they might be, but this just proves it all the more.

"What's this about broom closets?" Lucius drawls as he reclaims his seat, and turns to spear Vivian with a raised eyebrow. It's a look that would make most people cringe, for being on the receiving end of it is rather frightful, but Vivian is too shocked to even notice.

"Oh, just that Vivian wants to drag Sirius Black into one," Narcissa breezily explains, her eyes flashing with a smirk that does not extend to her mouth. It doesn't need to. Vivian sees it in her gaze as clear as day and immediately glares at her in annoyance.

"That's not true," she mutters, and grumpily curls her legs up as she leans against the window.

Lucius hums. "I don't know why _anyone_ would want to be with that blood traitor. Blair has more sensibilities than that, I'm sure."

Vivian doesn't respond. She is so done with this conversation. She hates Sirius Black for perfectly sound reasons. It has nothing to do with some nonexistent sexual frustration that Narcissa and Rosalind are convinced is there. She'd sooner lock Sirius into a closet and throw away the key than ever willingly join him inside.

With a quiet scoff at the thought, she turns her attention to her book. Narcissa and Lucius strike up a conversation about his prefect duties, but she drowns them out in favor of her reading, making sure to keep the book tilted towards her to ensure that no one is able to read the contents as she curls up against the edge of the seat.

"_You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope...I have loved none but you…"_

Oh, but Wentworth is such a man, and Anne is such a silly creature, so swept up in a world made entirely from the falsified perception of everyone around her, but never formed by her own hand. Course, they're both idiots, too, but perhaps that's just a side effect of falling in love. Vivian Blair wouldn't know. Not yet.


	3. Sequitur

**Chapter Three | Sequitur**

**[It follows]**

The Slytherin table is always one of the loudest in the Great Hall, coming in close second to Gryffindor. Unlike their house rivals, though, they aren't rowdy or boisterous.

"Austria was nice, I guess, but I would have much preferred we go to our chalet in Paris. Vienna got boring after a while," Rosalind is saying as she helps herself to a plate of food. She's been jabbering on about her summer for several minutes now, though Vivian's spent most of it tuning her out.

"I heard you stayed in England over break, Vivian. That's even _more_ boring."

Vivian glances over at her and gives a belated smile. It's true that her parents had decided to stay within the country this year rather than go on one of their usual summer vacations. Vivian hadn't minded, though it had been a very stuffy summer as a result. Her father had claimed that it was imperative they remain where they are, but he hadn't gone into details as to why. As the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Lukas Blair, Vivian's parents have been grooming her to take over the manor since she was born. She knows for a fact that her father's out of the ordinary decision hadn't been due to money restraints, because she's seen the inside of their accounting ledgers and she knows that they're just as wealthy as they've always been. Other than that, she isn't really sure what the reason could have been.

Like most pureblood families of wealthier stock, the Blairs always take long vacations during the summer months. Vivian's father is one of the higher-ups in Gringotts bank, and makes a lot of the major decisions surrounding it. His job is really just something for him to do though; he doesn't need to work. Mr. Blair was born into old money that's been in their family for generations. As such, Vivian is accustomed to wealth. She's also familiar with the way her elitist friends enjoy gloating about it.

"My father said he's going to take us to South America for my graduation present," one of her classmates boasts nearby.

She's half listening to the way Rosalind continually chatters on about her eventful summer, but mostly thinking about how strange her own parents had acted. It seems to her that her family had been one of the only ones to remain in England during break, at least according to the conversations happening around her. Lucius and his family had brought Narcissa along to a trip on the French Riviera, and Adams who is sitting diagonal from her had apparently gone off to Egypt. Vivian isn't jealous or anything; it's just that she finds it a bit odd. All summer, her father had been strangely jumpy. He spent most of his evenings locked away in his study instead of spending time with his wife and daughter. Even Vivian's mother had acted strange, and had by the end of the summer developed deep shadows beneath her eyes and sallow skin, as if she hadn't been sleeping at all.

Something had been amiss, but Vivian hadn't had the chance to get to the bottom of it before the start of term and her ultimate return to Hogwarts for her final year at school.

"What about you, Reg?" Mulciber inquires to her right.

She glances over to see Regulus Black sitting nearby. He hardly spares Mulciber a look as he responds, "Stayed home. My parents don't like to travel."

To her surprise, he glances over to look at her very briefly before returning to his meal. She's not sure why. Her and Regulus have had little to do with each other during their time at school, but she can't help but wonder at his words. True, she doesn't really know his parents. She hasn't seen them in some time now. There's been a rift between their families for years. Perhaps the Blacks have always stayed put during the summer. Still, for some reason, a part of her isn't convinced that he's telling the truth. It's some wayward emotion that flickers through her – some ghostly murmur in the back of her head. She's always been good a picking up on lies.

Shaking the feeling off, Vivian turns back to her meal. As she does, her eyes flicker over the Great Hall and land on the Gryffindor table. Her gaze naturally falls upon the four troublemakers of the school. At this point, it's habit more than anything. She likes to be prepared for anything that might come her way, and when those four are sitting close together and murmuring to themselves, it's usually because they're scheming something that will undoubtedly affect the Slytherin house at large. They're always picking fights with her classmates.

Tonight, it seems that they're more interested in starting a food fight, though.

"_Ugh."_ Her eyes narrow distastefully at their behavior. They're truly barbaric. She reminds herself that she shouldn't be surprised. It seems to be a tradition for them, having a food fight during the first feast of the year. She thinks she recalls the same thing happening at the start of sixth year too.

"They're repulsive," she mutters.

Rosalind glances back to see what she's talking about and makes a face in agreement.

Vivian slips her chin into her palm and watches them. She can't imagine how it's possible that they're having so much fun, throwing food at each other as they are. A part of her does have to admit that it is a bit amusing to watch, though, especially when Potter shoves a handful of mashed potatoes into Black's face. She feels her composure slip a bit when Potter proceeds to use his spoon as a catapult to throw some peas at Lupin. The utensil must be faulty (seeing as he's on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she grudgingly concedes that Potter has excellent aim) because they end up hitting Lily Evans in the face. The furious look she spears him with as she turns to face him makes the corner of Vivian's mouth edge up. Oh, it's always fun watching one of the legendary Evans-Potter fights, mainly because Potter always gives into her and lets her yell at him.

Vivian suspects that he might be a masochist.

While James makes a show of apologizing to his lady-love, Sirius takes advantage of his distraction by tossing some mashed potatoes into his hair in retribution. Vivian can't blame herself when she chokes back a laugh. James just looks so incredibly betrayed, and Lily so victorious, that she has to hide her amusement with a large gulp of pumpkin juice lest any of her housemates notice.

The thought, as always, makes her settle down a bit, mainly due to the realization that while the Gryffindor students are enjoying their meal so thoroughly, their Slytherin counterparts are still pompously discussing their wealth as if it is the only thing of import. If she had been able to, she would have taken her leave by now, but since Vivian is a prefect this year, she has to stay until the end of the feast to help escort the first year students to their dormitories and go over the ground rules of the castle.

With a gloomy expression, she forks up a piece of chicken and starts chewing, only for her eyes to travel back to the Gryffindor table as she swallows it. She thinks Sirius Black is foul and annoying, but it's hard not to notice how much he's filled out over the summer. His shoulders seem broader, and his face more chiseled, and his hair a bit longer. To the female population of Hogwarts, he's always been one of the most desirable boys in school, but she's never cared for his personality. He's proud and always jokes around about things that should be taken seriously. If that isn't enough, he's had it out for the Slytherin house since his first year – and, specifically, for her.

It isn't that Vivian thinks her housemates don't deserve a little backlash every now and then. She was born into a wealthy family that values blood purity over anything else, and she's knows the ins and outs of her particular lot in life very intimately by now. Her housemates flaunt their status and their wealth, look down on anyone who has muggle ancestry, and view everything as a competition centering around a constant search for glory and the admiration of their peers. They'll use any means available to achieve their goals, even if it requires them to throw their friends aside in the process. No – Vivian isn't under any delusion that there are many Slytherins who rightly deserve being targeted by the Marauders. In many instances, she's even inwardly amused when they are.

What annoys her, though, is how they seem to think that everyone in Slytherin house is evil, or at least on the road to becoming evil. Slytherin house gets a bad rep, really. There are many cunning and ambitious people out there who were in Slytherin and never turned bad, but Sirius Black doesn't seem to agree with that assessment. One of his greatest joys in life seems to be terrorizing anyone wearing green and silver, no matter who they are.

She thinks it's childish and insipid of him. It doesn't matter that he seems to have grown up outwardly over the last few months; he's still immature on the inside.

The food fight at the Gryffindor table eventually comes to an end when the Headmaster stands up and clinks his goblet to get everyone's attention. It takes a few minutes to make several hundred sporadic teenagers pay heed to him, but Dumbledore patiently waits for the last of the voices to die down with a calm smile.

In his deep blue robes and half-moon spectacles, the Headmaster certainly stands out. Tonight, he's wearing robes that shimmer with a sort of metallic thread. She's too far away to see what sort of pattern it makes, but the candlelight catches the threads so spectacularly that she knows it must be an expensive set.

"To all returning students, welcome back to Hogwarts," he says once everyone is giving him their unbridled attention. The hall erupts into cheers from the returning students. Vivian claps as well, looking a bit bored.

With a smile, the Headmaster adds, "And to all first year students, I bid you welcome." Another, briefer, range of clapping weaves through the hall, broken when Dumbledore lifts his hands and says in a loud voice, "Some of you may be aware that the wizarding world is changing. There are some families who have rallied together, driven by a goal of purification. I feel that it would be careless of me not to say a few words about these changes tonight, and to warn you all that a war may very well be coming to our doorsteps. I would also like to tell you all that, no matter who you are, there is always a place for you at Hogwarts."

Shifting a bit in her seat, Vivian frowns as she looks up at Dumbledore. His welcoming speech is certainly more dour than usual, though she supposes that she shouldn't be surprised by this. The murders had started at the end of sixth year. On several occasions, muggleborns have been found dead in their homes, and there's been an increase of terror making its way through the muggle world. The murders have all been linked together by the use of a mark lingering in the skies over the site: a skull with a snake wrapped around it, which had been dubbed the 'Dark Mark' by the Daily Prophet.

All summer, the Daily Prophet has been covering more and more of these murders. They've started calling the terrorizers 'Death Eaters', followers of a dark wizard who is known by all as Voldemort. Her father had kept track of the murders with an almost singular focus, and if she's being honest with herself, it had frightened her a little. The few times that she had interrupted him in his study during the evenings, he had been pouring over news articles as if his very life had depended upon it. In the mornings over breakfast, he'd scour the newspaper with an almost gleeful eagerness. It had made her mother wary, and as a result, Vivian as well.

"We are, after all, human beings – no matter our ancestry," Dumbledore finishes, and Vivian looks down at her empty plate. She has a sickening feeling that her father would not agree with that statement.

The Headmaster verges off of this dour speech to go over the usual school rules regarding the Forbidden Forest and curfew and such, and then tells them to hop off to bed. As she stands up and straightens out her robes, Vivian hears a few of her classmates muttering about the Death Eaters and their ambitions, and the sick feeling in her stomach only grows.

She's not surprised that her house is more forgiving towards Voldemort's goals. Blood purity has always been the backbone of Slytherin. Salazar himself had eventually left the school because these views clashed with those of the other founders.

She shakes the thoughts from her head and makes her way out of the Great Hall. The Slytherin prefects are in the hallway outside, ready to lead the first years to the common room. She moves to join them. Her head is spinning from Dumbledore's speech though, and as such she doesn't even see Sirius Black until he's knocking into her shoulder and smirking when she stumbles back a bit from his purposeful move.

"Oops," he says, lifting a hand to cover his mouth as if he's just as surprised as she is. "Careful there, love. You should really look where you're going."

With a sigh, she sends him a disparaging look and snarks, "Right back at you, _love._"

Sirius moves his hand from his mouth to his heart and says in an exaggerated voice, "You finally admit that you love me. It's only taken you seven years." He smirks at her when he sees the annoyed look on her face.

Ha. As if. She'd rather fall in love with Peter Pettigrew, and _that_ particular thought makes her want to vomit.

Rolling her eyes, Vivian starts to move around him to rejoin her house, but before she can remove herself from his presence, Sirius hooks a hand around her elbow and drags her back. She's about to snap at him to leave her alone when he leans in and mutters, "You seem a little distracted, Blair. Is it because your family joined up with the Death Eaters over the summer? Wanted to get in on the action? Killing muggleborns must be so much fun."

A fury like no other catapults through her. It's so encompassing that her visions flickers with it, shuttering with anger. She turns her ire to him, catching his eye with a fierce glare, and hisses, "You don't know anything about my family, blood traitor."

Upon being called such a deplorable name, he looks pretty furious too. Before he can throw an insult back at her, though, Vivian grabs his wrist and twists it off of her arm. In a louder voice, she snipes, "Your detention is on Friday. Seven o'clock in the dungeons."

His eyes are still blazing with anger, but his voice is light when he scoffs, "Maybe if you're lucky, I'll actually show up for it. I know you're looking for some decent company, but you'll have to get in line. I'm a pretty popular guy."

Vivian barks out a laugh and sneers, "Please. All I want from you is to put you in your place. If you don't show up, there'll be hell to pay." Then, giving him one last smirk, she drawls, "Goodnight, _love."_

Sirius grits his teeth as he watches her flounce off to join her house. He's itching to hurl a jinx at her, but he doesn't want to push his luck so early into the term. There'll be plenty of other opportunities to get back at her for giving him a detention before school has even started.

"Come on, Padfoot. We should crack open that firewhiskey to start the year off right," James says, grabbing his arm and pulling his in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. He doesn't say anything about Sirius's run-in with Vivian Blair. He doesn't really need to.

The girl has always managed to get under Sirius's skin in a way that no one else is capable of, and she doesn't even have to try. It's always been a source of amusement for him and Remus, though they've always just assumed that it has to do with Sirius's general dislike of the Slytherin house. Sirius has never told them otherwise, and they've never had a reason to ask. It does seem strange, though, that he's already trying to rile her up before the first class has even started. Usually, he holds off for a while before waging yet another war on Vivian Blair.

With a grumble, Sirius lets James drag him off, though not before sending one last glare towards Vivian. He's not sure what annoys him more: that Vivian doesn't even notice because she's busy talking to another prefect, or that said prefect has his arm slung around her shoulders and is looking at her as if he thinks she's _actually_ pretty.

Sure, Vivian Blair might not be the ugliest girl in the school, but he's certain that her perspective of the world is utterly repulsive. He knows how pureblood families operate, after all, and he's heard plenty of things about the Blair patriarch. He wouldn't be surprised if Vivian ended up among Voldemort's ranks after graduation. In his mind, she's a foul, prideful creature who's more likely to end up on the wrong side of history than on the right one.

Slytherins – they're all the same, and she's no different.

* * *

Vivian has always thought that the Slytherin common room is quite comfortable, but then she's never been in any of the other common rooms, so she isn't sure how it compares. The greenish glow of the rock walls and the cooler temperatures from the place being beneath the Black Lake had taken some getting used to at first, but these characteristics have grown on her through the years. As the wall of the common room opens up and she trudges into the main room, she feels herself smile at the familiarity of the sight. It might not be as warm as the Hufflepuffs commons are rumored to be, or as open as Gryffindor or as cozy as Ravenclaw, but she finds that the space possesses a certain atmosphere that makes her feel immediately at ease.

The large room is dark and dank with its black leather couches and mahogany furniture. An enormous fireplace takes up the far wall across from the entrance and boasts an ornate silver and green rug in front of it. A fire warms the otherwise cold room, sectioned off by an embellished iron grate. The high glass ceilings and towering stone walls might have made the place a harrowing one to spend time in, if not for the huge floor length windows that break up the stonework. Uncurtained and prominent, the windows are the main source of lighting in the room, and also the reason for the greenish hue of the place. The Slytherin common rooms are located below the Black Lake, and the windows give them a glimpse directly into the heart of it.

Sometimes if you pay attention, you can see the giant squid swim by. Every once in a while, the merfolk pays them a visit. And, though it had only happened once in Vivian's recollection, there was one morning that she had woken up and saw a group of troublesome grindylows banging against the enchanted glass and taking immense pleasure in frightening the first year students.

Speaking of the first years, they are gazing at the common room with wondrous eyes. The trip from the dungeons to the Great Hall is a short one, so the prefects have gathered everyone around once they had reached the dorms to go over the important information that the first years need to know. Vivian stands over to the side and lets Evan Rosier make his usual speech about how they'd do well to bring their house honor and to not lose any house points. Though she's never been a prefect before this year, she knows the speech well. Rosier is in her year, so she hadn't heard his speech when she was just starting out at Hogwarts, but since he'd been assigned to be a prefect in his fifth year, he's repeated the words nearly verbatim since. She swears he's got it written down somewhere. Probably spends the train ride to Hogwarts refamiliarizing himself with it.

After informing the first years about the ten o'clock curfew and explaining to them everything they need to know about the House Cup, their timetables, and basic things such as when breakfast is and when classes start, they are shuttled off to the first year dormitories, which are located closest to the common room. They gape in wonder at the place they'll be spending the majority of their time in from now until their graduation, and head off to explore their bedrooms.

Just like all of the dormitories, the girls and boys are split into two. The entrance to the girls rooms are on the right, and the boys on the left. They have to head down a long and winding flight of stairs to reach their individual dormitories, which are below the main common area. The first time Vivian had traversed the long hallway to reach her own bedroom, she hadn't much liked the copious number of windows lining it. It had almost felt as if she was walking right into the lake, and she had even caught herself holding her breath a few times before remembering that she was quite safe. There have been a number of occasions when the older students had thought it would be fun to see if they could break the glass, but they hadn't been able to and they'd gotten a stern reprimand from the prefects for it.

Once the first years leave, the rest of the Slytherin students spread out and get comfortable around the many chairs and couches littering the space. Conversations quickly fill the room as people talk about their summer holidays and get caught up with friends. Vivian doesn't linger to do the same, though. There is no one that she cares to talk to. She has little desire to stick around and listen to her housemates chatter on about their mansions and their extravagant trips, so she just heads to the seventh year dormitories without a word.

Dumbledore's speech has left her in a strange mood, and she feels a hint of bitterness when she thinks about the way Sirius had approached her afterwards. She's still angry from what he had said to her, and as a result, her entrance into her bedroom isn't quiet. It doesn't matter though. None of her other dormmates are even here yet, preferring to instead spend some time in the commons with their friends. She's glad for the peace and quiet.

The dorm is exactly as she remembers it when she'd left before summer break. Her trunk is waiting for her near her bed, which is the furthest from the door. Like all the dormitories, her room boasts several large windows that open up into the lake, but unlike the main common room, these ones have heavy emerald drapes on them. For now, the drapes are slung open to show off the interior of the Black Lake. As she sits down on the edge of her bed and stares at the gloomy green texture of the world before her, her mind spins with thoughts that are probably better left forgotten, if only she could put them aside like she knows she should.

"_Is it because your family joined up with the Death Eaters over the summer? Wanted to get in on the action? Killing muggleborns must be so much fun."_

Her eyes narrow, darkening with suppressed anger as she thinks about the other things Sirius had said to her earlier that day.

"_What'd they do? Insult your family? Call your father a Dark Arts fanatic? Because he is, I've read the Daily Prophet and the article they just wrote about him. I heard he's joined the Death Eaters. Is that true, Blair? Are you gonna follow in daddy's footsteps too?"_

She pushes herself to her feet with a growl and throws her trunk open, angrily arranging her belongings in her drawers and trying to push Sirius Black's annoying voice from her mind. He's such a colossal scumbag. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Her father hasn't joined the Death Eaters. She would have known about it if he had…

Right?

Vivian hesitates as she stuffs a pile of uniforms into her closet. Her movements turn idle as she puts her skirts on hangers and straightens them out, slowly arranging them side by side before doing the same to her button up shirts. She can't help the way her mind jumps over the events of the past summer, from one moment to another, all detailing the strange and oddly malevolent behavior of her father. Suddenly, she can't get the thought of his smirking countenance out of her head. He had smiled, hadn't he? When he'd read about the murders in the newspaper and showed her mother images that the reporters had taken of the Dark Mark, his mouth had curved upward.

But surely, Sirius is wrong. Just because her father prefers pureblood wizards over muggleborns doesn't mean he would murder any of them. He would never join the Death Eaters.

Setting her mouth into a firm line, Vivian gives a frustrated sigh and plucks her timetable out of her bag to give it a more thorough read. As her eyes flash over her class schedule for tomorrow, though, she can't stop thinking about what Sirius had said, and – to her uneasiness, some part of her wonders if he is right after all. Luckily, she's saved from any further consideration into that topic when the door opens and in steps her other dormmates, who are idly throwing insults at each other as if it is perfectly normal.

Around here, it is.

"Honestly, you're such a slut, Morrigan," Rosalind scoffs. "I can't believe you fooled around with Anthony _and_ Charles over break." Then, pausing, she shrugs and adds, "Though it is a bit impressive that neither of them realized you're a two-timer."

Morrigan sends her a Cheshire grin as she shuts the door, and breezily replies, "Enjoy your life while you still can, Rose. Once we graduate, it's all over."

Narcissa hums dryly and moves to sit on her bed with a neutral expression. When Morrigan sees it, she rolls her eyes.

"Oh please. We all know you're not _that_ excited to marry Lucius, Narcissa. He can be such a jerk sometimes," she says, throwing herself onto her bed with an _oomph_.

Rosalind sighs, "Besides, we all know he fools around on the side."

Vivian grimaces a bit at the crass words and shoots a quick glance at Narcissa to see how she takes it. As always, though, the woman is as calm and collected as ever. Nothing ever seems to faze her.

"All that matters is that he's from a respectable family," Narcissa says.

Morrigan snorts.

"And he's good in bed," she adds helpfully. Well, actually, it really isn't helpful at all.

Narcissa's eyes flicker with a deathly ire. She lifts her chin and slowly demands, "And how do you know that, Morrigan?"

Morrigan pauses. Rosalind snickers. Vivian clamps her mouth shut. Narcissa glares.

"Oh come off it, Cissy. It was way back in fifth year, before you were even together," Morrigan finally says, sounding a little too defensive.

Under her breath, Rosalind mutters, "Slut," and Morrigan throws her pillow into her face.

Rolling her eyes, Narcissa turns to glance at Vivian, who's been quiet so far, and drawls, "I saw the spectacle outside of the Great Hall. What did my cousin want this time?"

Vivian rolls her eyes and throws her timetable to the side. She hadn't really been reading it anyhow. With a glower, she scoffs, "He seems to think that my father joined the Death Eaters over the summer."

At this, the room falls silent. It isn't necessarily a taboo subject amongst her friends, but mention of Voldemort and his actions typically lends a stifled atmosphere to any conversation they exchange. None of them really know what to say. At least, until Rosalind quietly murmurs, "I think my parents might join him soon."

And just like that, the silence falls away.

"Mine too," Morrigan admits, her eyebrows pulling down just so.

Narcissa doesn't say anything, but the way she shifts uncomfortably makes it clear that she's in a similar situation. Vivian is…well. Surprised.

With pursed lips, she haltingly asks, "Do you all…agree with his methods?"

They all know who she's referring to. They're all quite unwilling to respond, too, and the room falls into silence once more. It's very far removed from the joking insults that had only just been flying back and forth.

It's Narcissa who finally mutters, "It doesn't matter, does it? Let's face it – we'll probably end up getting roped into this whole thing somehow. Either we'll marry a Death Eater once we graduate, or we'll become one."

Vivian stares down at her hands with a grim expression, unsure if she's grateful for Narcissa's point-blank response or aggravated at the resignation in it. What she does know is that she doesn't want to marry a murderer who tortures muggles for fun, and she certainly doesn't want to become one herself. She doesn't agree with Voldemort's perspective. Whether or not she thinks muggleborns are beneath her is another matter entirely. She doesn't think that they deserve to be tortured. But she can't be outspoken about any of her true thoughts. Not in Slytherin house. Not surrounded by potential up-and-coming Death Eaters. Not unless she wants to go against the entire world that she has been raised into.

Instead of responding, Vivian just picks her timetable back up and starts reading it again. Rosalind and Morrigan start another insult war, though it feels a bit more stilted than it had before. Narcissa demurely walks over to her trunk to organize her belongings.

No more is said on the topic of Death Eaters, arranged marriages, or life after Hogwarts, and Vivian is just as happy to push it out of her head for now. Unfortunately though, she can't ignore these things forever.

She has not escaped the whims of fate yet.


	4. Nulla fides fronti

**Chapter Four | Nulla fides fronti**

"Settle down now, settle down!" Professor Slughorn says from the front of the class. It's the first day of classes, and it's therefore nearly impossible to get everyone to stop chattering amongst themselves. The seventh years are too excited to be back with friends within the familiar and comfortable walls of Hogwarts, their home away from home.

Vivian just stands at the edge of the group without a word. Unlike everyone else, she has very little to say about how her summer had gone. Besides practicing Quidditch in her back yard, she'd moped around the house and read. She hadn't seen any of her classmates and had hardly even seen her parents except for meals. Nothing interesting had occurred that warrants revisiting, and even if there was, she would have no one to talk to about it right now. People in her house rarely have friends in the common understanding of the word. Rather, they have acquaintances. These acquaintances are usually people of import who are worth forming connections with, but never delve beyond the shallow. Narcissa, Morrigan, and Rosalind are exactly that: shallow. If she hadn't ended up being their dormmate at the start of first year, she doubts she would have ever spoken to any of them at all. If anyone had asked, Vivian would have to admit that she really doesn't have any friends. Not in the same form as Potter and his band of troublemaking idiots.

Speaking of, said idiots are standing at the back of the group, snickering to themselves about something or another. Vivian had hoped that she would be free of their company for Potions this year, seeing as it's a NEWT levels class, but apparently they're a bit smarter than she had expected. Either that, or Lily Evans had decided to take pity on them and help them study. Doubtful. In any case, the group is split down the middle today. It's just Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, which by all measures isn't as terrible as it could have been, if –

"Sorry I'm late, professor!" James Potter suddenly exclaims as he pushes through the door, and Vivian rolls her eyes.

Professor Slughorn gives James a brief talking to about being on time for his class in the future, but when he catches sight of the Head-Boy badge pinned to the front of his robes, he quickly changes the topic and goes about pairing everyone up. James smirks widely at this and throws a glance at his two friends, who look a bit baffled at his sudden ability to get away with murder with just the use of a gold and red badge. Vivian merely leans against a nearby desk and crosses her arms, ignoring everyone around her as Slughorn splits them all up. To her left, the Hufflepuff students are gathered together. To her right, her Slytherin group is snickering to themselves about some prank that was pulled the night before, or some such thing. Something about charming the Daily Prophet to read a fake article and scaring one of their housemates. A bit cruel, but Vivian has to admit it was rather ingenious of them.

"Today, I thought it would be appropriate to celebrate your NEWT year by making the Wit-Sharpening Potion. Now, as usual, you'll be working in pairs. I have high expectations for today's class. This potion should be a breeze for you all to make," he tells them as he stands by his desk. "When you receive your assigned partner, you may turn your books to page 209."

The Wit-Sharpening potion is indeed a breeze to make. It's technically below NEWT level, so Vivian assumes that Slughorn is purposefully making the first class of the term easier than necessary. He probably knows that assigning them a more difficult potion would be counter-productive for the majority of the class, who are still quietly chattering amongst themselves and don't seem to be in the mood for learning quite yet. As for Vivian, she doesn't care what potion they make, just as long as she isn't partnered with any of the Marauders.

"William Jenkins, you're with Bennet. Walker, with Miss Foster. Ah, Gordon, you can be with…Scott today, yes…" He continues to split people up until there are only a handful of them left. Vivian crosses her fingers beneath her sleeve and prays to be paired with a fellow Slytherin. She's not friends with Snape, but he would be remarkably better than –

"Miss Blair, why don't you work with Mr. Potter today," Slughorn tells her, and she immediately grimaces. She's not the only one.

Potter swivels his head towards her and makes a disgusted face, which only serves to darken her mood. She narrows her eyes at him but doesn't argue with the professor and merely sits down at the nearest table to dig out her potions book. Her partner trudges over to the table and sits down with a loud sigh, making a rude gesture at the snickering forms of Sirius and Remus, who, as fate would have it, are paired together and deem it necessary to sit directly behind them.

Merlin help her.

"What page?" Potter asks nosily as he carelessly tosses his textbook onto the table's surface.

Vivian casts him a disparaging look and drawls, "209. Pay attention."

He scoffs at her and mutters, "I can't believe I'm paired with you. It must be because we're both prefects."

She thinks he's probably right about that, considering how seriously Slughorn takes social status and the like, but she doesn't reply to him. She considers making a rude comment about how he had even gotten into this class to begin with, but decides against it. With Sirius and Remus behind her and James next to her, being needlessly mean would only start something that she would rather avoid. She is, as they say, surrounded on all sides.

"The two main ingredients for this potion are armadillo bile and ginger root. Be sure to get enough of those ingredients from the storage room, as you'll need to add them several times," Slughorn tells them as they begin.

"I wanted to be paired with Evans," James bemoans to himself, hardly even listening to the professor.

Vivian rolls her eyes. "I'll get the ingredients. You set up the equipment."

She doesn't linger to see if he had heard her before casting a quick glance at the ingredient list and heading over to the storage room. Slughorn had already taken everything out for the students to use, so she scoops up some ginger root, scarab beetles, and a vial of armadillo bile before making her way back to her table. As she does, she sees that James has turned around and is talking to Sirius and Remus, but since he had gotten their equipment out, she can't get annoyed with him for it. She doesn't say a thing as she lays the ingredients out on the table and turns back to her book, reading through the instructions in advance so that she has a general idea as to how to make the potion.

She gets halfway through the first paragraph when Sirius loudly murmurs, "Good thing we're making the Wit-Sharpening potion, Prongs. Some of our partners could really use it."

At her side, Potter snickers, throwing her a glance before turning back to Sirius and agreeing, "Too true, Padfoot. I recommend a daily dosage for the full benefits."

Vivian ignores them. Their immaturity has no bounds, it seems, and she'd like to get this potion finished as soon as possible so that she can leave early. Slughorn is usually good about letting his students take their leave when they finish the assignment, so long as the potion is perfect. An easy potion like this one should be simple enough.

The two of them talk the entire time that Vivian reads through the recipe. They seem more concerned with finding new ways of using the Wit-Sharpening potion to insult her than they do about actually passing this assignment. If she doesn't find it so extremely banal of them, she'd probably be annoyed by it. As it is, though…

"If you don't hold your weight, I'll deduct house points," she tells James with an obviously fake smile.

James turns to gape at her for all of two seconds before he snorts, "I think you're forgetting that I'm the Gryffindor Head-Boy and that I can deduct points same as you, Blair."

Her smile, though, only widens. With a smirk, she drawls, "Yes, but you can't deduct them from another prefect, now can you?" She casts her eyes over to where Sirius is standing, and raises an eyebrow before turning back to James.

Her silent message is clear: that she can and will use Sirius Black as a scapegoat to deduct house points if James annoys her. In fact, it would be her utmost pleasure.

James grits his teeth at her in aggravation and scoffs, "Just know that for every point you deduct, I'll find a way to even out the balance."

She hums dryly, looking entirely unconcerned, and nods to the cauldron. "It's hot enough to add the armadillo bile. Go on then."

James glowers at her and grabs the vile, popping the cork stopper and then tilting it into the cauldron. It takes Vivian less than a second to dart her hand out, grab his wrist, and hiss, "You have to _measure_ it, you idiot. Didn't you read the instructions?"

Behind them, Sirius laughs.

Honestly, though it pains her to admit it, she knows that Potter is smarter than that. All the Marauders are exceptionally bright and usually get top grades without even applying themselves. Magic comes naturally to them. They never study, are never seen in the library working on homework, and usually forget to turn half of their assignments in at all. She has no idea how they manage to get such good grades when they're such lazy troublemakers, but she can only assume that James's current lapse in judgement isn't really a lapse at all. He's probably just hoping to mess her up and is using himself as a sacrificial lamb to make her fail the assignment.

"I wonder if there's a potion that can make you less of a bitch, Blair," Sirius smirks from beneath a few wavy strands of his hair as he leans down to adjust the flame beneath his cauldron.

Vivian glares at him and snidely returns, "Shut up, _Padfoot." _She says the nickname as mockingly as possible, and it definitely has the desired effect.

Sirius immediately stiffens and lifts his head to glare angrily at her as he exclaims, "Oi! You're not allowed to call me that!"

Vivian just gives him a glowering look and, as she's pulling a mortar and postal over so as to grind up the scarab beetles, mutters, "I'll never understand your ridiculous nicknames for each other…"

Everyone in the school knows the nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot, James is Prongs, Remus is Moony, and Peter is…what is it? Wormy? Something like that. They came up with them a few years ago and have a habit of using them to refer to each other almost exclusively.

Still annoyed with her for using his most sacred nickname against him, Sirius mumbles, "Maybe if you actually had friends, you would."

He says it loudly enough for her to hear him, of course. Vivian pauses for half a second before continuing to grind the beetles, pretending that his words hadn't had any effect on her whatsoever. Who needs friends? She's a Slytherin. Slytherins don't form close-knit friendships with each other. They use their so-called friends to achieve advantageous outcomes, and Vivian is perfectly okay with doing the same. She's never wanted the sort of friendship that the Marauders share. It's a waste of time.

Beside Sirius, Remus glances over at Vivian and then pushes his textbook closer to Sirius as he quietly says, "We should get started so that we can leave early."

Sirius is still waiting for a snide response from Vivian though, who seems to be full of them. He doesn't seem to notice nor care for Remus's attempt to pull his attention back to the assignment. He's far more interested in staring at the back of Vivian's head.

"Got nothing to say?" he asks, crossing his arms and glowering at her. It's a useless action though. She can't see him. She seems to have decided that her potion is infinitely more important, which is a little annoying in and of itself. He doesn't like being ignored.

Vivian rolls her eyes and ignores him to instead begin adding the ground scarab beetles to the potion. James is sitting back in his chair, paying more attention to Sirius than to the potion, and Vivian is so eager to leave this situation that she decides to just take over in order to get it done faster.

"I guess she already knows that she's got no friends," Sirius says to James as if she isn't standing right there. "Not even her own house likes her." He smirks, and James coughs to hide a laugh.

Vivian sighs, stirs the potion counterclockwise three times, and then turns to face Sirius with her best I'm-better-than-you-in-every-way expression. In a haughty tone, she says, "I've changed my mind. You'll be serving your detention in the trophy room tonight. Make sure you bring your toothbrush."

She sends him a fake smile and then turns back to her potion just in time to see it turn from red to yellow, which is exactly how it should look at this stage. She turns to start preparing the ginger root to add to the cauldron and hears Sirius mutter to James, "I'd make her cauldron explode if it wasn't yours, too, Prongs."

She smirks to herself and, adding the ginger slowly with one hand while she stirs with the other, sighs, "I have so many ideas for detentions, Black. I can't wait to try them out on you. They're truly foul."

Her warning doesn't seem to make Sirius want to back off, but before he can open his mouth to retaliate, Remus nudges him with his elbow and gives him a look. With an annoyed glower, Sirius returns his attention to his potion and grumbles to himself as Remus pushes their textbook between them and forces him to read through it. James just laughs as if he's amused at his friend's aggravation and slings his arm over the back of his chair.

"Actually, this isn't so bad," he muses as he watches Vivian carefully measure a few more drops of armadillo bile to the mixture in front of them. He pushes his hair back with a grin and shrugs, "If you keep doing all the work, I might even ask to partner with you next time, Blair."

The both of them know that this is a warning of his own, and Vivian sends him an unimpressed look as she sweeps a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

"Sounds wonderful," she mutters, much to James's amusement. He chuckles at her pained expression and shares a humored look with Remus, who glances up to give him a raised eyebrow.

Unfortunately for James, Slughorn realizes soon after that he isn't doing any work. The moment he steps up to their table, James quickly buries himself in his textbook and pretends that he's been reading it all along. He even makes a show of announcing the next step to Vivian, as if he's assisting.

"Three drops of armadillo bile, Blair." He glances up, realizes that she's actually finished with that stage and is ahead by several steps, and quickly adds, "Oh – um, two pieces of ginger root."

Slughorn eyes him, crossing his arms as he peers over to inspect the state of their potion, and says, "Well done, Vivian, well done. Just what I'd expect from you." He gives her a pleased smile, which she returns, and then turns to glance at James with a furrowed brow. "A little more diligence, Mr. Potter. We can't have Miss Blair doing all the work."

Apparently James's attempts have failed. Vivian sends him a sidelong smirk that he promptly scowls at, but before either of them can say anything (or insult each other), Slughorn turns back to Vivian and asks, "You'll be gracing us with your presence at the first Slug Club dinner, won't you my dear? It's a shame you couldn't attend our end of the year party last term, but I'm sure you'll make it up to me?"

Mention of the Slug Club stirs up several reactions from the group she has unwittingly become a part of this morning. James coughs into his sleeve, turning to send Sirius and Remus a wincing look. Sirius makes a face as he turns his head down and pretends to look into his cauldron. Remus sighs and flips the page of their textbook to read the last part of the recipe. Vivian pauses, fighting back the desire to cringe in front of her Head of House.

Everyone knows that Slughorn uses his Slug Club to make connections with up and coming witches and wizards. He is extremely selective with who he invites to his dinners and parties. By the time his prized students graduate from Hogwarts, he is completely unabashed at using his connections for his own ends – mainly to vault his own social status and receive invitations to important events. The Slytherin side of her is actually a bit impressed with his tactics. They certainly play into a very standardized form of social networking in the upper-class world. His methods aren't at all different from how many of the wealthier families operate and she's quite used to it.

She also doesn't enjoy it. She deals with enough of that at home. The balancing act of polite society is enough to drive her mental half the time, and for it to be a part of her schooling as well is frustrating for her. At the behest of her parents, she had accepted Slughorn's invitation when she had received it at the start of last year, but she doesn't enjoy going to his parties at all.

"Certainly, professor," she says, forcing a smile onto her face. She can't very well tell him that she won't, but she can make excuses here and there and try to get out of at least a few of his stuffy gatherings. She is on the Quidditch team, after all, so she'll be able to use practices as one excuse at some point.

Slughorn beams happily at her and looks back at her potion. With a hum, he says, "Wonderful, Miss Blair. Five points to Slytherin for your hard work."

She smirks and thanks him, and he walks off to check on the other students. The moment he turns his back, James scoffs and mutters, "Teacher's pet much, Blair?"

She gives him a look and lifts her chin. "Just because I'm good at potions and I don't slack off like you do doesn't mean I'm a teacher's pet, Potter."

Behind her, Sirius makes a noise in the back of his throat and says, "I'm not surprised that you're in the Slug Club. Too bad Slughorn doesn't realize that you're going to crash and burn when you graduate Hogwarts."

Raising an eyebrow, Vivian looks over her shoulder at Sirius and drawls, "Oh, really? And why's that, pray tell?"

She probably shouldn't have asked. Sirius looks far too pleased that she had, which can only mean that he's about to epically insult her. She isn't disappointed.

"I'm sure by then, you'll be marked and on your way to Death Eater training," he snarks, and she frowns.

Why is Sirius Black so convinced that she's going to follow the Dark Arts after she graduates? Just because she's a pureblood doesn't mean she necessarily hates muggleborns. His priorities are so skewed if he actually sees the world in such a black and white way.

"Sirius," Remus murmurs, worried that his friend is crossing the line.

The thing with Sirius, though, is that he always crosses the line, and by now, Vivian is quite used to it. She's also quite good at getting back at him for it.

With a hum, she drawls, "I suppose Slughorn didn't think it would be worth it, asking _you_ to join the Slug Club. He knows that associating with the likes of you would be detrimental to his reputation."

Like Vivian, Sirius can't help but grind out an annoyed, "And why's that,_ pray tell?"_

He also knows he shouldn't ask, because Vivian's got that smirk on her face – the smirk that makes her eyes shine with evil mischief and tells him that revenge is on her mind.

Vivian leans into his table, catches his eye, and whispers, "You're a blood traitor. Unfit for common society."

Admittedly, he'd been expecting that. It doesn't stop him from gritting his teeth and seeing red, though. With a snarl, he leans in as well, until they're only a few inches apart, and bites out a harsh, "And you're a bitchy Slytherin princess with an ego so inflated, you can't even see things for how they really are."

Vivian hardly flinches at this. She only raises an eyebrow and laughs. Her laugh makes him even angrier, if that's possible. Vivian Blair is probably the only student in this school that can make him so angry, so quickly.

"Oh don't worry, Black. I see you _exactly_ as you are," she tells him snidely, and pushes off of his table.

He glares at her, and she glares right back, and James and Remus just watch them glare as if they're watching a spectator sport.

"You're a bitch," Sirius tells her.

She shrugs.

"I'm a lot of things," is all she says in response, neither agreeing nor refuting his declaration, and even though she doesn't say it out loud, she's rather proud of herself for how her blasé response makes his eyes flash with a fury darker than any insult she could have thrown at him.

* * *

That night, a little before seven o'clock, Vivian heads to the trophy room. She's come prepared for the detention that Sirius will be serving, bearing several books, some homework, and of course, a spare toothbrush just in case he thought she was joking.

He's late, though this doesn't surprise her. She would have been more surprised if he wasn't. She's served several detentions with him in the past, and he had always been late to those as well. When he saunters into the trophy room at half past seven, looking nonchalant and bored, Vivian hardly glances up at him from over the edge of the book she's got propped up in her lap. If he means to annoy her with his late arrival, he'll have to try harder.

"Get out your toothbrush," is the first thing she says.

The first thing _he_ says is, "You've got to be fucking with me right now."

Vivian raises an eyebrow at him, finally tearing her eyes off of the page she's reading, and leans back in the chair she had procured for herself. Their eyes clash. Hers are unimpressed, and his are skeptical.

"I'm not 'fucking with you', nor shall I ever be," she airily responds, and crosses her legs.

Sirius smirks at this and shrugs, "Don't be so hasty, Blair. I'm the most popular guy in the school. Most girls dream of fucking with me."

She's even more unimpressed with him after that, and just rolls her eyes. He's not exactly wrong, though. It's true that he's extremely popular and that he's got most of the female population of the school dreamily sighing at him at all moments of the day. It's also true that Sirius Black is a total slut and has _been_ with at least half the female population at some point between forth year and now, if not earlier.

He's always got a girl hanging off of his arm. His love life is a thing of legend, and even a good portion of Slytherin house follows the gossip as if it's the hottest topic around. Some of them even fawn over him, though to her knowledge, Sirius has never dated a Slytherin in all his time at school. He avoids her house like his life depends on it and seems to find a cruel enjoyment whenever he gets the chance to reject a Slytherin girl.

Vivian feels a bit bad for some of them, though in her opinion, they sort of ask for it by throwing themselves at him to begin with. She doesn't understand what part of him is so appealing. Sure, he's nice to look at, but that's about as far as his charms extend.

Sirius Black is a total arse.

"I've no idea why," she drawls, leaning over to dig around in her bag. Sirius watches her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the doorway. Around them, Vivian had enchanted dozens of candles to light the room, and they hover over them and cast their glow upon the gleaming gold and silver trophies. It's actually a rather pretty sight, though Sirius rather ruins it with his presence.

With a smirk, he shrugs, "You'll never find out. You're a Slytherin and I've got standards."

Vivian scoffs, "It's a good thing you're below _my_ standards, then." Then, before he can come up with a response to that, she tosses him the spare toothbrush she'd brought, feeling a burst of triumph at having prepared for this in advance. She had a feeling he wouldn't listen to her. When does he ever? Her triumph only grows when he barely manages to catch it.

He takes one look at it and scowls. "You were _serious_ about the toothbrush thing? This is cruel and unusual punishment. Besides, I can't stay long. I have somewhere to be."

She gives him an incredulous look and laughs humorlessly. Somewhere to be? Really? There's only one place he's going to be tonight, and that's scrubbing the surface of as many trophies as he can before curfew.

With a snort, Vivian points at the pile of trophies she had gathered and drawls, "Better get to it, then. Maybe if you get it all done, I'll let you out early. If not, I guess you're stuck here."

Sirius, as always, has a response for her. He sends her a shit-eating grin and quips, "I didn't realize you were so lacking in male attention, Blair. It's kind of sad that you have to hand out detentions just to get a guy to spend time with you."

She hums dryly and mutters, "Your wit is truly spectacular, Black." She probably should have seen that one coming, in hindsight.

Sirius saunters over to the pile of trophies and sighs, "Have I mentioned that you're a bitch, Blair?"

"Just start cleaning," she drawls at him, and turns a page.

The trophies she had selected are the filthiest ones she could find. They had been shoved into the far corner on the other side of the room and bear dates that go back several centuries. As such, they're more forgotten relics than contemporary reminders of recent students, and many of them haven't been touched in years. It's really a shame that Sirius is such a prick, otherwise she might've gone easy on him. As it is, though, it should take him the rest of the night to scrub the thick layer of dust and tarnish off of their dull surfaces.

Behind her book, Vivian smirks.

Curfew is at ten o'clock. That means she has to spend two and a half hours with him. A part of her is considering letting him out early, if only because she isn't sure if she can bear to spend so much time in the same room with Sirius Black and not want to strangle herself. The other part of her, though – the vindictive one, the vengeful one – is quite happy to make him suffer just as long as she can. And, as he throws himself to the floor, grumbling to himself as he picks up a particularly tarnished trophy from 1762, Vivian is certain that her wasted evening is worth it, if only because she gets to watch him toil.

If she thinks that he's going to make it easy for her though, she's mistaken. And, if she thinks that she's going to be able to spend the entire two and a half hours engrossed in her book, well…she seems to have forgotten how aggravatingly talkative he is.

"You should really watch your back in the future, Blair," he's muttering as he angrily scrubs the toothbrush over the surface of the ancient trophy. "I don't take kindly to people asserting their authority over me."

Vivian doesn't respond, and Sirius doesn't appreciate it. He sends her a glower over his shoulder, but she's so busy reading that she doesn't even see him. With a frown, he stops scrubbing the trophy and looks at her properly, wondering what's so enchanting about a book that has her managing to close herself off from the rest of the world. He leans back on his heels and studies her thoroughly.

It is only through the eyes of another that all your attributes, good and bad, become doubly apparent. He notices several attributes as he sits there, and some are good, and some are bad, but most he glosses over because this is Vivian Blair, and she is everything he hates. Still, he does have to admit (in a very deep corner of his mind) that she looks different this year. There is certainly something about her that he hadn't noticed last year, in any case. Perhaps her hair is more carefully done, or her skin is brighter, or her clothes straighter. Perhaps it is deeper than the shallow, superficial aspects of her character (of which there are many); a piece of her that cannot be seen by anyone who does not truly look, not even by herself, and seen only by the studious looker if he is paying the proper attention.

Well. He can't claim that he's ever paid her attention before, at least not the sort that requires him to notice her in such vivid detail. Maybe it's the lighting of the room or the fact that, when she isn't insulting him or sneering at people in her haughty voice, the baser parts of her character are easier to look beyond.

It's true that Vivian Blair isn't ugly. Her physical form is not her greatest flaw, though he's sure that it contributes to her arrogance at least in part. Her brown hair is silken and wavy, and is like honey in certain lighting; like chocolate in another. Her eyes are sharp and dark, and often barren of make-up besides the most basic application. If he's being honest with himself, she doesn't really need it. With her piercing eyes and defined mouth, her prominent cheekbones and svelte figure, Vivian Blair is attractive. No, it isn't her physical form at all that he finds error in.

In her arrogance, she is made low. Her lack of smiles and her glowering expression make her ugly. Her righteous viewpoint of the world, which is so black and white, is foul. She is a pureblood, an aristocrat, a Slytherin, and the summation of everything he loathes. There is truly no silver lining of character that might become her saving grace; no twist of nature that could be considered to him to be sincerely winsome; no forgiving attribute of personality that could make him see her for anything but a contemptible stain upon the rest of humanity, so grotesque are her failings and her haughty conceit. She is well and truly a lost cause.

"You have to finish that pile before you leave, or you'll be here again tomorrow night," she drawls at him, her dark eyes sharply glancing into his from over the cover of her book. She seems to find contentment in his suffering, which in turn makes him all the more repulsed by her.

"You really are a bitch," he mutters, and turns back to the trophies.

Vivian just hums and returns her eyes to the page, and Sirius once again feels a burst of annoyance at how that one little noise makes him feel as though she is ignoring him and his insult in full, as if she doesn't care for his opinion or himself in any way, shape, or form.

No one ignores Sirius Black and gets away with it.

"What are you reading, anyway? The Blair genealogy?" Purebloods read shit like that, don't they? They like being able to trace their family back generation after generation, and Vivian seems conceited enough to be able to lose herself in a text that's all about her.

She snorts and doesn't respond, which only annoys him all the more.

"It can't be one of those stupid teenage romance novels," he says, scrubbing at the trophy and uncovering part of the name that's been hidden by tarnish for Merlin knows how long. As he works to uncover the rest of it, he adds, "Though I guess that's probably the only action you'll ever get, so it must be."

When she still doesn't respond, he glares at her, reaches into his sleeve, and grasps his wand. Since she's not even paying him any attention, he might as well make use of her ignorance of him. A quick spell muttered beneath his breath, and the trophy he's working on is spotless. He smirks, glances back at her, and then subtly points his wand to the chair she's sitting on. Another barely audible spell, and the entire thing is falling to the floor, and Vivian along with it.

Oh, the sight of her landing on her ass, robes mussed up and expression baffled, quickly makes him burst out into laughter.

She isn't nearly as amused.

"_Sirius Black!"_ she hisses with a snarl, throwing herself onto her knees. He's laughing so hard that he's nearly rolling on the floor in his fit of hilarity.

With another snarl, she stands up, waves her wand, and fixes the chair within seconds. Then, grabbing her fallen book off the ground, she dusts it off with a scowl and snipes, "If you're not careful, I'll give you a month's worth of detentions just because I can."

This shuts him up pretty quickly, though he doesn't lose his shit-eating grin when he sneers, "You really are lacking in male attention, aren't you? Your personality is so foul that no one would approach you with a ten-foot pole."

She laughs cuttingly and sits back down in her chair, then sends him a narrowed look as if she's suspicious that he'll try that trick again. He won't, of course. He never reuses his pranks unless they're truly spectacular. He's got too many ideas to be that predictable.

With a smug smirk, he snorts, "Relax. You're so uptight all the time, it's really no wonder why the male population avoids you like the plague."

Her response to this is a clipped, "Has it ever occurred to you that I'm okay with that? Not all of us are sluts like you."

Sirius just shrugs and picks up the toothbrush again. As he makes a show of inspecting another trophy, he retorts, "At least people actually like me. You're just a friendless bitch without a heart."

With a glare, Vivian jerks her book back open and settles back into her chair, though she's a little less relaxed than she'd been before because she still doesn't trust that he won't tip the chair over again. He seems infinitely amused by this, and so she wipes her distrust from her expression and just sneers at him instead.

"I have plenty of friends," she mutters, trying to find where she'd left off in her book before he had so rudely interrupted her.

Sirius scoffs. That's a lie if he's ever heard one. He's only ever seen her hanging around his cousin and those two other girls who are presumably her dormmates. He's never seen her joking with anyone, or sharing stories or having a laugh. Maybe it's just a Slytherin thing. He definitely wouldn't want to hang around them, either.

Grudgingly, with much reluctance, he supposes that this aspect of her isn't quite as bad as it first appears. At least she seems to be aware that her housemates are arseholes of the highest degree. Either that, or she's really that pathetic that she can't make actual friends and had just given up trying somewhere along the line because she's so foul. It could be that, too.

They work in silence after that (surprisingly), until Sirius deems that he's spent enough time pretending to clean the trophies (and using his wand to magic the rest when he thinks she isn't looking), until it's nine o'clock and Vivian shuts her book with a loud noise.

"You can go. Next time, no magic."

Then she proceeds to stand up, stuff her book into her bag, and start for the door. Sirius, though, just stares at her with raised eyebrows and says, "Wait, you knew I was using magic and you didn't stop me?"

Vivian spins around to face him, rolling her eyes as her expression turns haughty. Honestly. He isn't as sneaky as he seems to think he is.

"Obviously. I don't particularly enjoy spending time with you, if you hadn't noticed. I have homework to do and I don't fancy wasting my evening even more than it's already been wasted," she tells him.

He narrows his eyes at her and replies, "It's a waste of both our evenings. You've completely ruined my plans."

She doesn't seem to care, not that he expects her to. He does expect her to insult him on her way out, though, and when she just sends him one last narrowed look and leaves without another word, he feels immensely surprised.

He stands behind his judgement of her: she's a creature who is far too haughty and arrogant to be worthwhile to anyone. However, he also stands behind his previous thoughts as well. When Vivian Blair isn't insulting him, she isn't quite as bad to be around.

Of course, she's still a bitchy Slytherin princess, and he fully intends on getting her back for giving him a detention in the first place.


	5. Non semper videntur

**Chapter Five | Non semper videntur**

**[Not always as they appear]**

It doesn't take very long for Vivian to get back into the swing of things at school. Her routine has changed somewhat since she's a prefect this year, but everything else is quite regular. The only other change is that, since it's her final year at Hogwarts, the teachers seem to be taking everything more seriously than they have in years past. In most of her classes during the first week of term, all of her professors have harped on them about their NEWTs and how important it is for them to focus on their studies. And, in most of her classes, her fellow Slytherins seem to be far less interested in said studies than the teachers would have preferred.

There is something different about her housemates this year, and Vivian isn't naïve enough to not know the reason for it. If what her dormmates say is true, then many of the old pureblood families are siding with the Dark Lord, and even though she's on the sidelines of it all, it isn't difficult to make several realizations in only a short amount of time.

The first is that Lucius Malfoy, Adrian Mulciber, Theodore Avery, Evan Rosier, and Severus Snape are all planning on joining Voldemort after graduation. She had heard them discussing it in the common room the other night, having no qualms at all about keeping their voices down. Their conversation had consisted of racial slurs and insults towards the 'lesser' wizards who lack the blood purity that her contemporaries hold in such high esteem. When they had seen her, they'd invited her to join them in their discussion, probably because the Blairs are also an old family who would, in all fairness, fit right into their ideals. Vivian had barely managed to come up with an excuse (prefect duties) to avoid that particularly situation and hadn't stuck around for very long after that. Unfortunately, she isn't sure if Avery will attempt to wrangle her into his group in the future, seeing as he's also the Slytherin Quidditch captain and she is technically on the team.

Her second realization is that in wake of their apparent plans, Mulciber's group (for he seems to have become its ringleader) have stopped trying to suck-up to the professors, specifically Slughorn, and don't seem to care about anything that a seventh year student should by all rights care about. Studying for NEWTs, winning the Quidditch Cup, attending classes, planning their post-Hogwarts careers, and even earning enough house points to knock Gryffindor out of the running for the House Cup at the end of the year, which her house always takes extremely seriously, do not seem to be a concern to them.

The third realization is that Mulciber wants to have Regulus Black join his group, because in the few times that Vivian has spent her evenings in the Slytherin commons, she's witnessed them invite him over several times. She's also seen him hanging around them during mealtimes and in the dungeon hallways near the common room, but she hasn't said anything about it to anyone. It isn't really her business, and besides, she rarely speaks to Regulus Black and therefore isn't entirely sure that she cares one way or the other.

Her course load this year is impressive. She had obviously been a bit too hasty when she had signed up for her courses this year, because she's already not sure if she'll be able to handle the ridiculous amount of homework that's being assigned for each class while juggling Quidditch and prefect responsibilities at the same time. Only a week in, and she's already having doubts, and is wondering if she should drop Transfiguration because 1) she's never been very fond of it, 2) she could use an extra study period to tackle her homework, 3) McGonagall seems to have it out for Slytherins this year, and 4) Sirius Black is sitting only a few desks away at the edge of the Gryffindor section, and he's been glaring at the back of her skull for fifteen minutes now.

This is her fourth realization, which isn't so much a realization as it is a more generalized fact that has been culminating in the back of her mind since before term even started: Sirius Black will quite possibly be the death of her this year.

"Now I'm sure that many of your other professors have already stressed the importance of your NEWTs, but I wish to take several minutes to reiterate a few things," McGonagall is saying as she stands behind her desk and peers at the room over the rim of her spectacles. She doesn't seem to notice the way Sirius is glowering at Vivian, or if she does, she doesn't make mention of it. Vivian, for her part, just ignores him. She's not afraid of Sirius Black. She's been around far more fearsome characters in her time at Hogwarts (some of her housemates can be downright scary when crossed), and anything that he can do to her would be nothing compared to what she's seen Avery or Mulciber do to others.

"This year will pave the way into your future," McGonagall tells her. "It is of the utmost importance that you all apply yourselves in your classes. Your examinations must take precedence over everything else – Mr. Potter, do pay attention and stop staring at Miss Evans – even your extracurricular activities, and that includes Quidditch – Mr. Potter, as Head-Boy and Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, I expect you to take my words seriously, now do pay attention. This class will prepare you for stepping into the world after you graduate from these esteemed halls. If you do well, you may go on to work in fields above and beyond what you now consider – "

"You heard her, Lucius. We must _apply_ ourselves," Mulciber whispers to his friend and accomplice. His voice is too quiet for McGonagall to hear, and Vivian barely turns her head to look at them even as Lucius snorts and mutters about just how he'll be applying himself once he graduates. She's frankly a little unnerved at how easily he admits to his goals.

" – will of course be willing to speak with any of you concerning any potential jobs that you are interested in, and I do encourage you all to speak with your Heads of House as the year progresses. At the beginning of second term, you'll all receive appointments with your Head of House to discuss career options, so I urge you all to be thinking about this matter."

As she pauses to take a breath, Sirius's hand shoots into the air. Vivian glances over at him curiously, as does the rest of the class. McGonagall's reaction is far more resigned, as if she had expected an interruption at some point or another. With all four of the Marauders in her class, it's rather hard to avoid it.

In the back of her mind, Vivian wonders how all four of them had managed to even _get_ into this class, but then she remembers that Potter, Black, and Remus are actually really smart, and that they had probably helped Pettigrew get good enough marks so that they'd all be together. For as long as she can recall, Peter Pettigrew has always held a sort of hero-worship for James and Sirius, exulting them as if they are his own personal sun. Vivian had always figured that their egos couldn't bear to get rid of him, despite Peter being a more sub-par wizard than the other Marauders.

"Yes, Mr. Black?" McGonagall asks, sounding distinctly tired.

His hand returns to his desk and he immediately asks, "What if we already know what we want to do after Hogwarts, professor?"

The question seems to take McGonagall by surprise. She raises her thin eyebrows and studies Sirius for a moment before saying, "Well then, I would say that you're one step above many of your fellow seventh years, Mr. Black."

At this, though, Sirius barks out a laugh and returns, "Oh, I didn't mean me. I have no idea what I want to do. I'm saving that decision for the last week of school." He shakes his head and sighs, "No, I was talking about some of my _other_ classmates."

He casts a glance over towards the Slytherin side of the room, and Vivian notices that Mulciber tenses a bit. The hulking Slytherin turns in his chair, stares Black down, and raises an eyebrow at him as if daring him to be more vocal about the point he's rather obviously trying to make. Sirius's eyes linger half a second longer on Vivian than the rest of them, and it makes her shoulders tense up too. She throws a scowl at him.

McGonagall looks between the Gryffindors and Slytherins for a long, terse moment. Silence descends upon the room. It's awkward for everyone. The Ravenclaw group are nearly all frowning, and the Hufflepuffs are purposefully looking anywhere but at the Slytherins. Sirius's remark had been clear enough for them all the understand. The Daily Prophet has, after all, been spewing article after article about Voldemort and his loyal pureblood recruits.

As Vivian sits there in the awkward silence with an annoyed Mulciber on one side and a glowering Sirius Black on the other, Vivian comes to yet another realization: Sirius Black well and truly thinks that she will be joining her housemates in their effort to purge the wizarding world of 'lesser' blood.

He's made plenty of comments about it this past week, of course, but she hadn't quite realized that he was being serious about them. He's such a colossal jerk that she had merely put it down to him needing to find new ways of insulting her. She feels, abruptly, that she has been wrong about that. Under his glowering eyes, she feels as though he is judging her far more harshly than she deserves. He has no right to make such assumptions about her character when he's never taken the time to actually have a civilized conversation with her. The only times they have spoken with each other during their Hogwarts career have been when they've thrown insults at each other, or pranked one another to such an extent that she had to get revenge or her pride would never let her hear the end of it. In most cases (though, admittedly, not all of them), he had instigated every one of those situations. If he hadn't bothered her, Vivian is quite sure that she would never have even glanced his way.

McGonagall appears a bit scandalized at Sirius's indiscreet insinuation. Whether some part of her agrees with his suspicions or not, it doesn't matter. She is an authority figure and cannot agree with Sirius.

Her voice splutters out a harsh, "Mr. Black, I suggest you concern yourself with your _own_ future. Merlin only knows you ought to."

Potter lets out a snicker that he muffles quickly into his hand, and Sirius sends him an unimpressed look. As for the Slytherins, the tension on her side of the room gradually fades as McGonagall begins her lesson for the day, but Vivian can feel Sirius's eyes on her classmates even as the professor turns to the blackboard to introduce the subject of today's study.

"Transfiguration: the art of transforming one object into another. In years past, this class has focused on verbal spells and common everyday objects. This year, the coursework will become increasingly more difficult as we turn our focus to human and animal transfiguration. I warn you all that the topics we will cover will be exceedingly challenging."

"Today we will briefly review some of the previous spells and incantations that you have all learned at the end of your sixth year. This week will primarily be a week of theory, but next week, I expect you all to have gained a full understanding of the spells and be able to use them in a practical setting. Now, get out your quills, please, and we will study a spell that you should all be familiar with, as we have gone over it last year…"

_Corvusplectrum_: a spell that transfigures a quill into a raven. They had indeed briefly covered the spell at the end of last year, though it had been slightly above the sixth year skill level. McGonagall had wanted to give them all a taste of what the seventh year curriculum would be like, to ensure that everyone who signed up for the next level would be prepared for the challenges of it. Now it seems that such a decision had been calculated, for they will be going over it again today.

As per usual, they begin with theory. McGonagall brushes them up on the spellwork and wand movements before they all begin to practice on their quills. The room is soon bustling with waving wands as students attempt to bring their quills to life. Vivian is usually rather good with transfiguration, and had improved a lot over the summer. With little to do around the manor, she had ended up with her nose stuck in many a book to pass the time. After reading through her preferred novels and works of fiction, she had turned to her textbooks out of sheer boredom. She knows this spell because she had practiced it, yet for some reason, and despite the many times she had succeeded in the past, every time the incantation leaves her mouth, nothing happens.

She's growing frustrated, especially when she sees that Lily Evans has a fully intact raven cawing at her from atop her desk. In fact, several Gryffindors have succeeded where she has not, including (to her aggravation) James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.

Potter is taking turns to stare adoringly at Evans and to assist Peter Pettigrew into correctly performing the spell with Remus, who has turned in his seat to give his friend pointers. Lily is now chatting with one of her friends as she idly draws a finger over her raven's head and coos at it. As the time passes, more and more people manage to complete the spell, but Vivian cannot.

She's frowning intently as she glances over at the clock. Class will be dismissed in only fifteen minutes, and if she does not succeed in transforming her quill by then, McGonagall will be disappointed. The professor isn't beneath doling out extra homework to those who do not pass the practical assignments in class, and she would definitely like to avoid that. Her schedule is already too full as it is. Spending additional time in the library is not in her plans for today, especially as she's got a prefect meeting before dinner that she can't miss, because it's the first official one of the term.

"_Corvusplectrum,"_ she murmurs, taking care to swish her wand in the correct manner. Her quill twitches as if it is about to transform. The feather begins to darken to a raven black, but then at the last moment, it drifts back onto her desk looking just the same as it has all class.

"Having some trouble, Blair?" a voice calls from a few desks away, and Vivian stiffens.

She turns to throw a narrowed look over her shoulder at Sirius, who is watching her with such an immensely satisfied smirk that it reminds her of a cat who had trapped a mouse in a corner, with no way of escape. Now Vivian unfortunately knows Sirius a little better than she would have liked, and the look that is currently blazing over his face is one that she happens to be rather familiar with. It is a look that tells her that he's proud of something, and that something is undoubtedly her own failure. This can only mean that he has something to do with said failure.

She stares at him for a long moment in which his smirk only widens, and then growls, "Are you sabotaging me?"

It is, of course, a very strong possibility. He's already got his wand out from performing his own spell, and it wouldn't be difficult for him to wave it and ensure that her spell doesn't come to fruition. She certainly wouldn't put it past him.

Sirius sends her a very innocent expression and puts a hand over his chest as if he's offended that she would even ask, but she sees the way his eyes flash at her and she has a feeling that she isn't as wrong as he wants her to believe.

Flushing with anger, she turns to face him fully and opens her mouth to tell him off, but doesn't get the chance. Sirius presses his fist against his mouth to muffle a sharp laugh as Professor McGonagall sweeps over to Vivian's desk and gives her a frightening look through her spectacles. It's one of those looks that would make most students grimace, and Vivian is not immune to them. She swallows.

"I'm surprised, Miss Blair. You're very bright, and this is a spell we have already gone over in the past," McGonagall says, raising an eyebrow at her. She then proceeds to study the quill, casting a quick look over it as if to make sure that it is the same as all the others. When she finds nothing wrong with it, her eyes crinkle with disappointment. "I expect you to have this mastered by the next class, Miss Blair. An additional four inches added to your homework should be enough to drill it into your head."

Then, giving her one last look, McGonagall goes over to Pettigrew's desk to no doubt give him a similar report, as he hasn't succeeded either. Vivian's only consolation in this is that Peter's quill is a little worse than it had been to start out with, and is smoking around the fringed edges of it. Unfortunately, that's where her consolation begins and ends.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Vivian turns back around to glare at Sirius, who seems to have informed Potter of his little prank, because the both of them are trying to muffle their snickers as they sit in the back of the Gryffindor section. Potter sends her a humored grin, Sirius winks at her, and to be perfectly frank, Vivian would like nothing more than to march over to them and give them a piece of her mind.

Instead, she just grasps her wand tightly and watches them collapse over their desks in muffled laughter. No, she doesn't outwardly react to them, but that doesn't mean she won't repay them in full.

Well, perhaps not in full, but…

"Ow! That hurt, stupid bird," Sirius barks, and swats his raven away from him as the bird suddenly begins to peck at his arm. James seems to be having a similar problem.

As for Vivian, she just leans back in her chair and smirks at the sight, and when Sirius lifts his eyes to send her an annoyed look, she just shrugs innocently as if she's got no idea why their ravens have turned against them, and tucks her wand out of sight.

* * *

The rest of Vivian's day goes much better, and she will admit later on that her extra Transfiguration homework is not so difficult to tackle after all. She excels in Charms, her favorite class, and earns house points from Flitwick when she's the first the master the spell that they are going over. Sirius and his friends are all sitting on the other side of the class from her and so she barely even remembers that they are there at all. After Charms, she heads to lunch and manages to land a seat that's far away from Mulciber and his gang, which only improves her mood. During her free period in the afternoon, she's able to finish most of her homework, which means that she won't be overly worried about her assignments during the prefect meeting that evening. She also discovers that none of the Marauders are in her Ancient Runes class, so she at least has some free time away from them during the school day. By the time she's walking back from her last class of the day, she's in high spirits.

The prefect meeting is to be held in an unused classroom on the first floor, an hour or so before dinner. Vivian leaves the Slytherin common room early so that she makes it there on time, her prefect badge gleaming brightly on her robes. It is as she's walking out of the dungeons that she runs into someone she does not expect, but seeing as this particular person is not one of _those people_ that she would avoid like the plague, she ends up quickening her pace to join him in the hallway.

"Hey, Regulus," she says pleasantly as she catches sight of him walking down the hall.

The boy glances over at her, his dark eyes sweeping over her face before he briefly greets, "Vivian," in his soft-spoken voice.

Though they've rarely had the need to speak with each other in the past, Vivian has always appreciated Regulus's quiet approach to life. She is of the mind to believe that silence speaks louder than words, and if there is anyone who has mastered this particular art, it is Regulus Black.

Seeing that he is a prefect as well, it's hardly a stretch to assume that he's also heading to the meeting, and so when she falls into step beside him, neither of them comment on the irregularity of the action. Neither of them say much to each other at all, really, partly because they don't have anything to say and also because they don't have much time to strike up a worthwhile conversation. The classroom they are meeting in is close to the Slytherin commons, and they arrive at their destination in only a few short minutes.

Once they reach it, Regulus holds the door open for her, and Vivian sends him a smile before ducking into the classroom. He follows her inside, noting that most of the other prefects have already arrived. The one good thing about prefects is that they are often such sticklers for the rules that they are early for just about everything. Well, most of them are, in any case.

Nobody looks at all surprised when James Potter swings into the classroom five minutes after everyone else has arrived. Neither does anyone seem taken aback at his mussed-up hair or harried countenance, as if he has just run here from the Gryffindor tower itself. His robes are a bit wind-blown as a result, his breathing heavy, and his gold and crimson Head-Boy badge askew on his chest.

"You're _late,"_ Lily Evans is quick to inform him, looking downright menacing as she crosses her arms and sends him an unimpressed, judgmental look.

Vivian leans back against a desk to watch the spectacle, already amused at the way James dramatically clears his throat and lifts his hands out to her. He promptly declares, "Allow me to make it up to you, beauteous Lilypad," and from the tip of his wand, a bouquet of lilies sprout into existence. He proceeds to pluck them off the wand and wave them at her, obviously trying to get her to take them from his outstretched hands.

No one is at all surprised when she doesn't.

Making a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, Lily shoves them away from her and snaps, "I've told you a thousand times not to call me that."

James doesn't even blink when she rejects the flowers. At this point, Vivian figures that he's so used to her constant rejections that the only thing that would truly shock him speechless would be if she were to actually accept his many propositions. Unfortunately for him, that will probably never happen. Lily Evans has been rejecting James Potter since first year. Her rejections are just a part of daily life here at Hogwarts.

"I believe we should start the meeting," one of the Ravenclaw prefects drawls, looking unimpressed with James's antics. His name is Gavin Clarke, and like most Ravenclaw students, he takes his duties very seriously.

Lily throws a look at James as if she's silently telling him to behave himself, and the meeting begins. James goes to stand beside Remus, who is leaning against the wall beside some other Gryffindors, and the pair briefly greets each other before James turns back to gaze at his lady-love with mooning eyes.

They discuss several topics, but begin with a brief summary of how the first week of school seems to be going, and which students to watch out for and such things. The Marauders are, of course, immediately mentioned, and the glances that James receives from the room at large makes it rather clear that even though he's Head-Boy this year, he is still included in the group. Amusingly, Remus doesn't receive any such glances despite also being a part of the group. He always seems to get out of the majority of trouble that his friends stir up, but Vivian has a feeling that he isn't as innocent as he appears. She isn't sure if such a thing is possible, with James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew as best friends.

After that, they go into other topics, the main one being assigning nightly patrols between the group. Night patrols are one thing that Vivian is least looking forward to. The thought of walking around in an empty castle, in the dark of night, alone, makes her uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she doesn't have much choice in the matter. Courtesy of Gavin, they all receive timetables that outline who will be patrolling on which nights. Each night is broken into three blocks of time, and the castle is split up into four categories, one for each House. The prefects will mainly be sticking to their own house sections, with some exceptions when the times don't align completely. The good news is that Vivian is only scheduled to patrol three times a week and that her sections are the dungeons and first floor for the majority of the first month. The bad news is that the thought of walking through the dark dungeons at night isn't one she's looking forward to.

"Do you think it's wise, not to patrol in groups?" Remus wonders, glancing over at Gavin. James straightens up with a nod, shooting a hopeful glance at Lily, who pretends not to notice. Gavin looks immediately offended at having his immaculate timetable questioned and proceeds to explain why patrolling in groups of two or more would hinder the scheduling process and increase their nightly work load.

("And I, for one, would much rather get enough sleep so I can focus more on my studies," he says with a resolute nod, to the agreement of his fellow Ravenclaws, and Lily for that matter.)

They all agree to keep to Gavin's timetable, and the conversation turns to other topics. As Vivian stuffs her timetable into her bag, Regulus leans over to her and murmurs, "Make sure you wear something warm."

Confused, she turns to him to ask him what he means, but he only shrugs, "The dungeons are cold at night. I froze my arse off on my first patrol."

She's a little shocked that he's speaking to her, much less giving her helpful advice to combat the chill of the dungeons at night. Even if said advice is a bit obvious, Vivian finds herself humming with a nod.

"It's too bad we can't patrol in pairs," she tells him, half listening to Gavin as he goes off on a tangent about disciplinary actions. With a brief glance at Regulus, she murmurs, "I don't fancy the thought of walking around the halls at night."

Regulus doesn't smile, not in the same way most people would. His mouth doesn't move, but his eyes crinkle up a bit as he looks down at her. It's the sort of smile that is barely there, but somehow still as warm and as potent as if his entire expression had changed to accommodate it.

"It's definitely one of the less stellar aspects of being a prefect," he responds quietly, making sure to keep his voice down lest he incur the wrath of one overzealous Ravenclaw. He falls silent after that, and the two of them turn their attention back to the meeting.

She's still surprised, though, that Regulus had talked to her. It isn't that they aren't accommodating to each other when they do find themselves in the other's vicinity. It's just that, since he's a year below her, they've never had any immediate similarities for which to bring them closer together. They have different classes and run in different circles. Despite being Slytherins, neither of them have much in common, until now.

The rest of the meeting goes by without a hitch, and Vivian is glad to leave the classroom. Her stomach is growling hungrily and her thoughts are filled with steak pies and roast potatoes. She's eager to have some dinner so that she can head to the library to finish the last few assignments she hadn't been able to get to that afternoon, but as she's stepping through the door, she finds that she has company.

It's probably silly of her to tense up, seeing as everyone is making their way to the Great Hall for the very same purpose as she is. Still, out of habit, her shoulders stiffen as she looks over to see who has fallen into step beside her. When she realizes that it's only Lily Evans, though, Vivian feels herself relax. Her and Evans have never had a problem. Despite her being friends with the Marauders, she's always been removed from them just so, and her treatment of Potter has always been a source of amusement for Vivian.

"Sorry about Transfiguration today," Lily says after a beat of silence. She glances over at Vivian and explains, "Sirius was bragging about his prank during lunch."

Vivian raises her eyebrows skeptically. Sure, Lily isn't nearly as idiotic as the rest of them, but it's odd to think that she'd take Vivian's side over theirs, especially considering the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry that is nearly as ancient and consuming as the school itself.

Lily sees the expression on Vivian's face and sighs, "I don't condone their behavior. It's childish." After a pause, she mutters, "It's all Sirius, really. I think you might be his favorite target."

This doesn't surprise Vivian. There are many reasons as to why she's his favorite target. They have more of a history than most people think. It's rather difficult not to, considering how close their families used to be, once upon a time. Their parents have similar beliefs and social statuses, and as a girl, Vivian had seen quite a lot of Sirius Black. Not that anyone outside of Slytherin is aware of this, though. The majority of the school assumes that Sirius hates her just for the hell of it, but there is actually more to it than just a silly house rivalry.

With a shrug, Vivian drawls, "I've already told him to watch his back. I'm a prefect this year and I fully intend on using my authority." She sends Lily a wicked smirk that makes Lily pause hesitantly. She's clearly not accustomed to being on the receiving end of the Slytherin Smirk.

"I'll try to get them to back off, but…you know," Lily shrugs. Vivian just hums dryly, appearing as if she doesn't care.

Footsteps hasten behind them, and suddenly an arm is thrown over Lily's shoulders as James and Remus catch up to the pair.

"I'll escort you to dinner, Lil – ow!" James bemoans, and promptly drops his arm when Lily elbows him sharply. Then, straightening out and realizing that Vivian is walking beside Lily as if they are actually friends, James sends her a weird look and says, "What're you doing, Blair? Scurry off to the dungeons already."

He either doesn't notice the angry look Lily sends him or is just too focused on the way Vivian scoffs at him and drawls, "I'm going to _dinner,_ you prat. How many times must I tell you to pay attention?"

James scowls and shoves his hands into his robes, walking beside his lady-love and throwing terse, suspicious looks at the two girls as they walk along. As for Remus, he just quietly walks behind them, content to keep himself removed from the strange group.

"I didn't realize you two were friends," James says, and grimaces on the last word as if he's slightly nauseous at the thought. He casts another suspicious look at Vivian, as if he expects her to whip out her wand and threaten Lily.

"We're not," Vivian replies immediately, and shrugs as they reach the doors of the Great Hall. She disappears inside and heads for the Slytherin table, leaving them behind without another look.

As she walks away, Lily rounds on James with an annoyed expression and mutters, "You don't have to be so rude all the time, Potter. She's never done anything to you."

James frowns at her, looking distinctly upset at her being annoyed at him for what comes so naturally to him – the rivalry between their houses, that is – and sullenly replies, "She called Sirius a blood traitor back in fourth year."

Lily's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? _That's_ why you've been making her life hell for as long as I can remember? She called Sirius something that she probably didn't even mean _years_ ago?"

She pushes away from him and storms to the Gryffindor table with James hot on her heels.

"Of course she meant it – she's a Slytherin," he says, trying and failing to grasp her arm.

Lily wrangles her arm back and throws herself onto the bench beside Peter with a huff. As James sits down, Sirius looks over at them with a raised eyebrow and wonders, "What's wrong this time?" He doesn't sound very surprised to see Lily and James at odds with each other – or, more specifically, Lily at odds with James. She's always annoyed at something he's done.

Peter, apparently thinking that the question is directed at him, shrugs unhelpfully as he watches the pair. Remus merely takes a seat across from them and starts filling his plate with food as everyone turns their attention to Lily's annoyed expression.

"I've gotten to know her a bit through Severus back when we were still friends, and she's not that bad. Besides, she defended me against him when he called me a you-know-what," Lily says with a frown, directing her words mainly to James. She glances over at Sirius too, though, and the narrowed look gives him a pretty good indication as to what, or who, she is talking about.

With a snort, Sirius exclaims, "Who, Blair? Are you serious?" He pauses at the obvious play on words, waiting for his friends to react to it. When they don't, he just rolls his eyes and says, "She's never been 'nice' in all the time we've been at Hogwarts, Lily. I don't know who _you're_ talking about, but Vivian Blair is a total bitch."

James shrugs in agreement, and Lily turns angry eyes to Remus to snap, "Do you think that way, too?"

Remus pauses, clears his throat, and glances at Sirius and James. They're giving him a look that tells him they expect his agreement, as well, but instead Remus just sighs, "I've never had a reason to dislike her."

Peter is quick to jump in with a, "But she's a _Slytherin."_

Sirius nods staunchly and slings an arm around Peter's shoulders. "Exactly, Wormtail. Wonderful point."

Peter beams happily, but his smile falls quickly when Lily turns on him and Sirius with a glowering, "Merlin was a Slytherin too, and he went on to do great things. You can't judge a person based on the house they're sorted into."

Sirius shakes his head at her and responds, "You don't understand, Lily. You weren't raised in a pureblood house like I was."

His argument doesn't seem to impress Lily, who rolls her eyes at him and nods over to the Slytherin table with a short, "Do you see her doing anything evil over there? She's not a dark witch, Sirius, and just because that Voldemort fellow is on the rise doesn't mean she's going to join up with him after Hogwarts."

All four Marauders turn to look over at the Slytherin table. Amid the sea of emerald and black robes, Vivian Blair is sitting at the end of the table, surrounded her usual friends but hardly paying them any attention. In fact, it appears that she is currently pretending to be a Ravenclaw, for she's got her nose pressed into a book and is hardly paying attention to her food, either. Her wavy brown hair is tied back at the base of her neck, and her fork is dangling from her fingers as she flips a page. Sirius narrows his eyes at the book and wonders if it's the same one that she had been so engrossed in during his detention, but doesn't linger on the thought before turning back to Lily with a shrug.

"It's probably a spellbook full of curses," he supplies, and digs into his food.

James starts to laugh, until Lily shoves her elbow into his stomach and it turns into a choking cough.

Later, once the shock wears off, this adamant belief of his will be a source of amusement for him. For, though he does not yet know it, Vivian's dictionary of hexes does not have even a single dark spell in it at all. The pages within are filled with stories that will do more than just throw him for a loop; they'll make him begin to rethink everything he assumes to know about her character.

For now, though…

"Mark my words, Evans," Sirius says, "Blair isn't worth your time. She's a lost cause."

It's funny, or at least it will be, how these words, too, will bite him back in the future. For there will come a day when Vivian Blair will be so important to Sirius Black that every wayward insult and sneering glance will become more than just a thorn in his side, but - a bitter, haunting regret.


	6. Paritur pax bello

**Chapter Six | Paritur pax bello**

**[Peace is produced by war…]**

Sirius promptly forgets about Lily's words by the time the next Transfiguration class rolls around. If they had given him pause at all, he had brushed that hesitance aside before it could truly register in his mind. After all, he knows Vivian well enough to understand that Lily is merely being too forgiving towards her many flaws. It's some girl thing, he suspects; some womanly temperament that dissuades Lily from hating Vivian as much as she deserves. Still, despite his firm stance, he doesn't pay much attention to her over the next few days. With Remus acting as prefect for the third year in a row and James's new position as Head-Boy, mischief managing has gotten rather difficult to pen into their schedules, but it isn't for lack of effort.

"I've told you already, Padfoot. As much as I'd like to help, you're on your own this time," James tells him yet again as they loiter outside the library after classes. Several students give them strange looks in passing, mainly because it's odd to see them so close to a place of study. Remus spends plenty of time within the walls of the library when he isn't being dragged into his friend's plots, but James and Sirius tend to stay far away from such a reputation-ruining location, and Peter by extension.

Indeed, the reason for their presence today has little to do with studying itself and more to do with a certain female. Sirius isn't sure what's more pathetic: that Lily thinks the library could actually give her an escape from James's adoration, or that James has yet to step inside and is instead peering through the door to catch a glimpse of her, ducking around the students who enter and exit and cursing at them for getting in his line of sight.

Honestly, he doesn't understand James's ardent affection for that girl sometimes. If he was the one mooning over a female and that female constantly rejected him, he would have moved on a long time ago. As he watches his friend's ridiculous attempts at peering through the doors, he decides right then and there that he'll never be caught acting so ridiculously over a girl.

With a sigh, Sirius bemoans, "That badge is making you _boring,_ Prongs." He says this is such a way that makes it clear that this is a most grievous thing.

Of course, James doesn't even seem to hear him. He has eyes only for Lily, who by the by, he can just barely see from his current standpoint. Not that it matters. Even the slightest glimpse of her vibrant red hair is enough to capture his attention entirely.

"It's our last year, Pads," he murmurs. "My last chance to make her fall for me. Time is running out and we've barely even managed to have a full conversation without her insulting me."

Sirius crosses his arms and glances over at Peter, who shrugs at him.

"You yourself said that you liked my plan to prank the third years," Sirius mutters as he turns his gaze back to James. He eyes his friend with a put-out expression and sighs.

Peter jumps up to say, _"I'll_ help you, Padfoot. I think it's a really great idea. They won't know what hit them."

Before Sirius can respond, James glances over at them and shrugs, "See? Peter will help."

The obvious brush off makes Sirius frown at him. "It's not the same," he insists. Peter makes for a good look-out, of course, but he isn't at Sirius's level. James has always been his accomplice. Together, they make the best pair.

Sirius opens his mouth to continue with his efforts of changing James's mind, but before he has the chance, a voice drawls, "Move. You're in the way."

All three of them look over to see Vivian standing nearby, obviously trying to enter the library. Her book bag is slung over her shoulder, full to bursting with textbooks and study materials. Her expression is pinched with frustration as she stares at them, and also a heavy heaping of suspicion, as if she's just waiting for them to pull something. What other reason would they have to linger like this in front of the library? There are really only two options. The first is that they are about to prank the entire area, and the second is that Lily Evans is nearby.

Sirius narrows his eyes at her and grumbles, "Just go around us, Blair."

She raises an eyebrow at him, then at James, who is taking up the entire doorway, and sighs, "Hurry up and talk to her, Potter. Once she rejects you, we can all go our separate ways and life will be normal again."

It doesn't take an Unspeakable to figure out that Lily Evans must be the cause of this. Potter only gets like this when she's involved.

James sends her an annoyed look and retorts, "I can't go in _there_. That's the _library."_

Before Vivian can stop it, a tiny smile graces over her mouth at his staunch rebuttal. It's gone within seconds, barely seen and completely unnoticed by anyone who isn't looking. The unimpressed glower that takes over her features erases any leftover humor that might have otherwise touched her gaze.

"True. I suppose it would be utterly scandalous for you to be seen in a place like that," Vivian responds dryly.

James just nods in agreement, then stops when he realizes that he's agreeing with Vivian Blair, and shoots her an annoyed look.

"Well what are _you_ doing here, then? I thought you spent most of your time in the dungeons with Snivellus," Sirius asks, sending her a raised eyebrow. If he expects that his comment will annoy her, though, he's wrong.

Vivian merely snorts, "I'm here to _study,_ you idiot. That's what libraries are for." Then she proceeds to stick her nose into the air, shove her way past James, and sneer, "Get out of my way, blood traitor."

Sirius glares at her back as she walks away. James does too, prickling with anger at the name she'd called him. When Peter sees how annoyed his friends are, his face also contorts into a frown. But James's annoyance gets even heavier when they see Vivian glance over at Lily's table and loudly inform her that her stalker is creepily watching her. Lily jerks her head up, catching sight of James. Her expression immediately darkens, and she's quick to get up and move to another table – one that's out of sight of the door. Vivian shoots them a vicious smirk and disappears to find a table.

James mutters something beneath his breath and then says in a louder voice, "We need to prank her. Properly." He turns to send Sirius a questioning look.

"I have an idea," is all he says, and grabs his friends' arms. As he pulls them away, their heads duck down together to whisper about this plan of his, and the sight they make is so familiarly deviant that everyone in the hallway avoids them at all costs.

* * *

About two hours later, Vivian makes her way back to the Slytherin common room feeling rather good. Not only has she tackled her Potions assignment on the usage of occamy eggshells, which she thinks she's done rather well on, but she's also managed to ruin Potter's afternoon by foiling his half-thought plan to ogle Lily Evans from the library doorway. All in all, she deems it a day well spent, and when she swings into the common room sometime before dinner, she does so with a self-satisfied smile.

Such an expression is rarely out of place within these walls. Her housemates are usually smug about one thing or another, whether it's to do with their own family power or some act of bullying performed on a younger student. Indeed, there is hardly a Slytherin alive who has not mastered the expression of superior smugness, nor the art of wielding it in their favor, and so Vivian does not look out of place as she saunters around dark leather armchairs and occupied chess tables. A quick glance around the room tells her that the current occupants range from second year to fifth year students. Where the others are, she does not know, but her good mood only increases when she realizes that Mulciber and his gang are not around. She's never much liked them, but their recent plunge into darkness has been making warning bells go off in her head since the first day of classes, and there's only so many excuses she can give to avoid them.

With time left before dinner, Vivian takes a seat by one of the windows that peers into the lake. The common room is large enough to afford her some semblance of peace as she curls her knees up and pulls out her book. She had charmed the cover to resemble only a leather-bound tome, changing the title lest one of her housemates is knowledgeable enough to recognize it. Her reasons for doing so are rather simple: her family, and indeed, her house at large, hates anything to do with the muggle world, and this book is a creation of that very same world.

She had stumbled upon it by chance back when she was a first year and her parents had taken her into the heart of London. She's quite sure that they wouldn't appreciate knowing how she had wandered into a muggle bookstore during that trip, nor that she had walked out of it with a book carefully tucked beneath the arm of her cloak, just out of sight amid the black fabric. She's also quite certain that, if they know how many times she has been there since, they would view her behavior as a slight against their precious pureblood lifestyle and demand that she throws her collection of muggle books away. What had started as a small, easily overlooked form of rebellion has since become something of an obsession for her. It is also something that could have dangerous repercussions, especially with the Dark Lord on the rise and her own family rumored to be in cohorts with him.

To be found with not only one, but several books written by a muggle, could easily be misinterpreted as an act of rebellion against the pureblood way of life itself, and by extension, the Dark Lord. Vivian does not believe that her family is truly supporting him, but she has a feeling that many of her classmates are.

Instead of reading the well-worn book that, in truth, she has probably memorized by now because she's already read it so many times over the years, Vivian flips open the leather cover and pulls out a sheet of paper that she had stuck there the day before. She sets herself up in her chair, putting an inkwell on the table beside it and digging out a quill from her bag. After looking over the Latin inscriptions she had scrawled there earlier, she tilts her head and makes a few corrections to her ideas.

Experimental charms. It's what she's instinctively good at. Coming up with potential new spells is more of a hobby for her than anything else, but it's one that she enjoys.

One of her current self-bestowed projects is a charm that restores life to a person. It doesn't bring back the dead, of course – no magic can do such a thing. Rather, it rejuvenates the target. Or it would, if she could figure out the correct Latin terminology that would make it work correctly. So far, all of her ideas have fallen flat, backfiring in rather epic ways and forcing her to return to square one to rethink the spell.

As she's musing over this, someone shuffles into the chair next to hers, and she glances up to see Regulus. He doesn't greet her or do anything at all to acknowledge the fact that out of all the empty chairs in the common room, he's decided to take this one. All he does is kick his feet up onto the table, lean back, and silently take out a book. If she thinks it strange, Vivian doesn't comment on it. She doesn't acknowledge him, either, and merely returns her gaze to the parchment in her lap.

In truth, Regulus has always been a bit of a mystery to her. His quiet demeanor and reserved nature is a stark difference compared to his brother. In fact, everything about the two of them is different in every way she can think of, which she figures is most likely why she can actually stand to be in Regulus's presence without wanting to strangle him. In any case, though, Regulus's personality is composed in such a way that reminds Vivian of a stormy ocean: intense but calm, ironlike but flexible, soft-tempered but thunderous. He's something of a curiosity to most people who meet him, due primarily to how difficult it is to read him.

"What are you reading?" she finds herself asking after a few minutes of silence. The question bubbles into existence before she can stop it. She doesn't look over at him when she asks it, but does glance up very briefly after it leaves her lips.

He's stretched out comfortably in the chair, his book resting on his knee with one arm slung over the armrest. For a moment, she thinks that he's either so engrossed in his reading that he doesn't hear her, or that he's blatantly ignoring her, because he doesn't immediately respond.

Just as she decides that he probably won't respond at all, Regulus murmurs, "It's a spin-off of '_The Tales of Beetle the Bard'_. A rather boring bit of fiction, but it's something to read."

Vivian is honestly a bit shocked. Regulus Black is reading a work of fiction? For some reason, she cannot fathom such a thing. It seems…irregular. She would have expected something more meticulous and studious, such as extra reading for class or something equally as deliberate. She lifts her eyes to look at him, puzzling over this new revelation with perhaps more intensity than is required.

Naturally, he notices. It would be rather difficult not to, and she isn't making an attempt at hiding her stare – or her surprise. It dashes through her gaze like lightning, coloring the brown of her eyes in such a way that, when Regulus glances up to look at her, he can hardly do anything but stare just the same.

The corner of his mouth tilts up. The movement is just as silent as the rest of him – so subtle that it's hardly there – and yet that little movement utterly changes him. Vivian's shock at his choice of reading is quick to transform into a more general surprise at his entire person, and she finds herself studying him in a way she never has before. He looks very much like his brother in many respects: black hair with a slight wave to it, dark grey eyes, a strong defined face. But while Sirius Black is the sun, bright and vibrant and energetic; Regulus is the moon, tantalizingly mysterious and perplexingly impassioned. And – he does have a rather nice smile, even though it's barely detectable.

"You're surprised," he notes. He shrugs and returns to his book, breaking the strange connection between them. As he does, he murmurs, "Most people are, when something challenges their predisposed beliefs."

Vivian raises an eyebrow at this and turns to look out of the window at the lake. She muses over his words for a moment and then replies, "You seem more the type to read textbooks for fun, is all."

She's not worried that this will offend him as it might offend someone else. Though her and Regulus have had little to do with each other in the past, she is confident that she knows him well enough to correctly make such an assumption.

She ends up being right. She also ends up being surprised yet again when he hums, "So do you, and yet _your_ choice of reading is even more shocking."

She's naturally a bit wary upon hearing this. Stiffening a bit in her chair, Vivian draws herself straighter and subtly pulls her book closer into her lap, not that it matters much. He couldn't possibly be aware of her reading choices…could he? It doesn't matter how observant Regulus is; he couldn't be _that_ observant.

Thankfully, she feels that she is correct in that assumption too, when he catches her eye, leans forward, and murmurs, _"'A Dictionary of Hexes'? _I didn't take you for a Dark Arts practitioner, Vivian."

Her immediate reaction is to snort is a rather unladylike manner. She had almost forgotten that she'd charmed her book to bear such a title. It had been an off-the-cuff decision, for the most part. She'd figured that no one in Slytherin would question it and would therefore find no reason to wonder why it's in her possession. Of course, she hadn't figured that Regulus would care to take notice.

With a dry hum, Vivian dips her quill into her inkpot again and shrugs, "Like any intelligent person, I find it important to be prepared – for duels, of course."

Regulus just hums as well, just as dryly, and sends her a quiet smirk. She's not sure she likes the flash of knowledge that burns through his gaze, but she doesn't react to it. Slytherins are masters at smug expressions, but that is not all they're good for. In her humble opinion, her poker mask is a thing of legend.

Still, when he quietly murmurs, "Of course," Vivian isn't entirely convinced that he has been properly fooled.

* * *

It surely wouldn't surprise anyone within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to know that, hardly one week into the term, the Marauders are already hard at work causing mischief and wreaking general havoc. Well – the latter won't come until the morning, when their mischief is allowed to truly shine. Before that can happen, several acts must be performed first.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," a voice quietly whispers in the shadows of a darkened corridor, followed quickly by a rather breathless, "Prongs, my feet are showing!" an impatient, "I can't help it if I'm taller than you, Wormtail," and followed up with an annoyed, "Shut up, you two. Lumos."

The tip of Sirius's wand immediately bursts forth with a bright light, and the occupants of James's invisibility cloak all cringe back a bit as it invades their eyes. The wand hovers over the map that Remus is holding and they all huddle closer to peer down at it, the light entirely forgotten as they search the paper. The name they are looking for, though, doesn't seem to be in the area in which they are expecting to find it.

"I thought you said she'd be patrolling tonight," Sirius mutters to James, who furrows his brow in confusion.

As he leans closer to the map, he frowns, "She is. She's on the schedule Gavin put together."

Peter, who is looking over James's arm, murmurs, "Rather useful, that schedule. Don't you think, Padfoot?"

Oh, Padfoot thinks that it's extremely useful. He's practically been singing Gavin's praises all day long, much to the confusion of his fellow Gryffindors who had overheard his rather uncharacteristic appreciation of the notoriously uppity Ravenclaw prefect. Seeing as Sirius Black and Gavin Clarke are about as different from each other as can be, to say that they get along would be a steep overstatement. Gavin finds Sirius's pranks to be immature and foolish – not to mention his maverick disregard for school assignments and his preoccupation with spending his free time (when not engaged in a prank) exploring the interior of a broom closet with a member of the female species. In contrast, Sirius thinks that Gavin is an utter bore and that his obsession for schoolwork and rule-keeping is unnaturally obstinate, even for a Ravenclaw. To anyone who doesn't know the reason for Sirius's sudden change of heart, it is quite odd. Of course, to anyone who does, well…

"That schedule is the single best thing that tosspot has ever done," Sirius gleefully replies. "Imagine all the opportunities we'll have to pull one over on Blair with the help of that lovely bit of parchment! The possibilities are endless – "

"There she is," Remus interrupts. As he points to the corner of the map at where the name 'Vivian Blair' is stationed, he casts Sirius a halfheartedly firm glance as if he's hoping that it will rein him in a bit. Sirius, naturally, is a bit too busy leaning down to study the area where she's located to notice, not that this surprises Remus. For as long as he can remember, Sirius Black has had it out for Vivian. He's always claimed that it's because she's a Slytherin, but Remus thinks that this excuse is flimsy, at best. One doesn't just form a hatred this epic overnight, after all.

"What's she doing? She's not even walking around," Peter muses. Unlike his three friends, he doesn't have to hunch down beneath the cloak to ensure that it covers him. Even now in his seventh year, he's shorter than the others. Alas, the years when they could all fit comfortably under the cloak have long since passed. Sirius and James are both taller than most of the other boys in their year, and Moony only a bit shorter than them. In order to all fit in the cloak without showing their ankles or shins, true acrobatic measures of the highest order are necessary.

Luckily, their trusty map tells them that there is no one even remotely nearby where they are currently located. Not even Mrs. Norris is stalking the floor. (They had made sure to add her to the map in their second year when they realized what a truly menacing creature she is.) The area should be relatively safe, considering that it is Vivian's domain tonight and she doesn't seem to be taking her job very seriously. Instead of prowling the halls like a prefect should be doing, the dot that gives away her location is sedentary and motionless. Even after they stand there for a few minutes, waiting for her to move, she doesn't.

"…Maybe she fell asleep?" Remus guesses offhandedly, and glances up at his friends to gauge their responses. The harsh light emitting from Sirius's wand casts sharp shadows over their faces. It also illuminates their skepticism.

With a doubtful expression, Sirius mutters, "What, on the floor?"

James shrugs. "There's only one way to find out. Let's go."

They cast one last glance to the dot with Vivian's name blazing over it before Sirius murmurs, "Nox," and puts out the light. It takes them a few moments to get used to the sudden darkness that they are plunged into, and then they all start to walk down the hallway. Back in first year when they were just starting out their Marauding lifestyle, it had been so easy to run through the halls beneath the cloak. Now, though…

"Ow – Moony, watch it!" James hisses, fighting the urge to lean down and rub his ankle.

Remus grimaces and sighs, "This isn't going to work. One of us should take the cloak and go scope out the area while the rest waits with the map."

The idea is quickly accepted as the best course of action lest they want to make themselves known to Vivian before they can truly perform their epic prank, so they pause again and take a moment to decide who should be the one to carry out the plan.

"Wormtail's the shortest," Sirius shrugs, much to Peter's aggrievance. He doesn't much appreciate it when his height is pointed out, even when it's merely in passing reference to the cloak.

James shakes his head, "No offense, Wormy, but you're too loud. Moony should be the one to do it. He's a master sneak."

As expected, Remus doesn't look overly enthused. He doesn't argue, though, and merely sighs as the four of them pull the cloak off and deposit it around his shoulders, their decision apparently made.

"We'll wait for you by the Slytherin common room," James tells him quietly, and Remus's responding nod is resigned.

As his friends start off down the hall with the map open to warn them of any potential problems, Remus turns in the other direction to find Vivian. He's honesty not sure how his friends had roped him into doing this. It's their seventh year, and not only that, but it's NEWT year. How they plan on keeping up with their classes _and_ finding the time to pull their nightly pranks should be an accomplishment if there ever was one. And, besides that, helping Sirius with his quest for payback against Vivian Blair, of all people, isn't something that Remus really wants to involve himself in. Not that he doesn't think that Vivian is a bit strange, for lack of a better word, but he certainly doesn't understand why Sirius hates her so much. Personally, he thinks that she's one of the few Slytherins that isn't innately terrible.

She's gotten into her fair share of trouble over the years from getting into tussles in the hallways with other houses, and seems to be fairly knowledgeable about hexing people, but she's certainly not as bad as Lucius or Mulciber or Avery, who walk around as if they own the castle. Though she has her moments, he's always found her to be relatively agreeable when she's not surrounded by her housemates. Indeed, his suspicion that she only acts the way she does because she doesn't want to break the mold of her own house is something that he has long considered to be a major aspect of her character, and her usually blasé and even-tempered personality when she is alone is proof enough of that, to him at least.

When he stumbles upon her several minutes later, that thought only further cements itself into his mind.

In many ways, Vivian Blair and James Potter are actually more similar than either of them would ever want to admit. At least, in one aspect. Neither of them has ever been truly held down by rules or regulations, and yet they've both managed to become Head-Girl and prefect, respectively, despite not having been prefects in the past. They also do not seem to take their new positions all that seriously. After all, if James took his badge seriously, he would not be out here tonight, partaking in yet another nighttime prank; and if Vivian took her badge seriously, she would be patrolling the halls like she's supposed to instead of sitting on the ledge of a window scribbling in a notebook with only the crescent moon as a light source.

Remus peers at her from beneath the gauzy material of James's invisibility cloak, brows furrowed as he wonders what has stolen her attention so completely. Her head is bowed, her knee bent to accommodate the surface of her notebook, and though he can't see much of her face in the shadows of the darkened corridor, he sees enough of it to catch sight of her thoughtful expression. The only sound to be heard is the occasional scratch of her quill against the paper. She doesn't seem to be writing any sort of homework or essay for class, for she has no textbooks with her. She seems, instead, to be jotting down some sort of list, and every once in a while, she mutters something beneath her breath that sounds like a spell of some unknown origin and crosses out her work with sharp slashes, only to begin again.

There is something very peaceful about the sight she makes as she leans against the window ledge and tilts her notebook into the moonlight. Her dark eyes scan the surface of it slowly, in a musing sort of way that is quite relaxed and solemn. She certainly doesn't seem like she's living up to her Slytherin name right now, at least. No indeed – Remus thinks she looks extremely human, and possesses within her all the subtleties thereof: sensitive, impassioned, and intrinsically flawed in a way he cannot quite put his finger on.

Seeing her now, he almost feels a shard of guilt burgeoning up within him when he thinks about what is in store for her. By tomorrow morning, she will definitely not be as calm or relaxed as she is now. A part of him wishes that it had been Sirius or James who had been chosen for this job. Perhaps, then, they might see some redeeming quality in her that might make them change their minds about rustling her feathers in the manner that they are so determined to do.

Redemption – now that is a topic that Remus has spent much time considering, but never has he directed these thoughts towards a Slytherin. He thinks, quite suddenly, that perhaps he ought to.

Of course, it doesn't stop him from turning around to rejoin his wayward friends, but it does make him a little less willing to take part in the next step of their plan.

"What took you so long? You stood there for nearly five minutes straight!" Sirius murmurs to him when he reappears from beneath the invisibility cloak. True to their word, Sirius, James, and Peter had made their way to the dungeons to await him. When he locates them after some searching (they've found a hiding place behind one of the large serpent statues that marks the entrance to Slytherin territory), the map is open and resting against James's leg as they crouch in the shadows of the hallway and keep an eye out for anyone who might be coming towards them.

Remus quietly clears his throat as he slips out of the cloak. Handing it back to James, he hesitantly asks, "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

The question, combined with Remus's tone, has Sirius raising an eyebrow. Even in the shadows, the determination that blazes through those grey eyes can be clearly seen.

"What's wrong with you, Moony? It's just a harmless prank – not nearly as insane as some of our previous ones," he returns, sounding a little suspicious.

It's true: this particular prank isn't as crazy as some of the other ones they've pulled on the Slytherins. Back in third year, they had managed to sneak into all the dormitories and charmed their bedsheets to not let them get up. Come morning, nearly the entire Slytherin house had missed breakfast and the first few classes of the day before they had managed to find the counterspell. Slughorn had been furious and had spent the morning in an endless tirade about the laziness of his Slytherin students until he realized that they were not being lazy at all, but literally incapable of leaving their beds.

In fourth year, they'd rigged the dungeon hallway leading to the Slytherin common rooms (this very one, in fact) with dungbombs and charmed smoke grenades. Everyone coming back from dinner had walked right into the chaos and had stunk to high heavens for days afterwards.

In fifth year, they'd camped out by the Potions classroom to hex any Slytherin that came by, ducking into the secret passageway by the statue of Wormhilda the Worthy whenever someone approached their hiding place, and then starting it all over again the first moment they walked away. They'd managed to hit nearly all of the then-sixth year students with the Steleus hex, and they had spent the entire day sneezing continuously.

In sixth year, they'd convinced Peeves to help them rig the doorway into the Slytherin common room (which, of course, they knew the precise location of by that point in their Hogwarts schooling) to turn everyone walking in and out of it into a bright slimy green color that wouldn't come off for days afterwards.

And those are only a few of the more lighthearted pranks. This one in particular that they are planning tonight is not nearly as drastic or as complicated as some of their previous ones. It also doesn't target the entire Slytherin house.

Remus sighs. He knows full well that, when Sirius is determined to do something, nothing he can say will convince him not to do it. In fact, based on previous experience on the subject, it will only make him that much more determined. Still, he can't help but murmur, "I just don't understand your hatred of her, Padfoot. She's not that bad. Besides, this is our seventh year. Don't you think it's time that we mature a bit?"

Sirius looks utterly mortified at the thought of 'maturing'. James does too, for that matter, and to Remus's surprise, it is James who speaks up with a staunch, "She deserves it."

Honestly, the amount of times that Remus has heard those words in referral to Vivian Blair could fill a book in the restricted section of the library. And – the amount of times that the reasons for her deserving this sort of attention falls short in some way is equally as impressive. Sometimes she truly does deserve it, of course, but Remus still can't shake the feeling that she only acts the way she does because she has a particular reputation to align herself to. And, in this case, James always gets indignant whenever someone gets in the way of his prescribed Lily-time, regardless of who it is or how it's done.

"She only told Lily that you were staring at her like a creep," he points out.

James gapes at him for a moment before adamantly denying, "I wasn't being a _creep."_

His friends all turn to give him dubious looks. Even Sirius has to disagree with this. Snickering, he says, "You really were, actually. I've told you time and time again, if you want to get the girl you can't be that obvious."

James scoffs at Sirius's advice and, as usual, brushes it aside. Sirius doesn't look that upset with him for it. By now, he's quite used to James's disregard for his advice – even though Sirius has hooked up with more girls than anyone in the school and tends to know what he's talking about when it comes to the female sex.

"Besides," James adds gruffly, reaching up to push his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, "she also called me a blood traitor. What's your argument for that, Rem?"

Remus hesitates. In truth, he doesn't have an argument that could defend Vivian from this accusation. Even though he hadn't been there when it happened, he can easily picture those words coming out of Vivian Blair's mouth. He's heard her call Sirius that dozens of times over the years. Even he has to admit that it's an awful thing to call someone – almost as bad as using the word 'Mudblood', in a way. He doesn't have an argument this time, and James knows it.

Peter shakes his head and whispers, "She's moving now. I think she's walking back to the common room."

It's a good thing that Peter has been keeping an eye on the map while his friends argue around him, because if he hadn't been, they would have all been caught in the hallway next to the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories looking very suspicious, and their plans to prank Vivian would have failed spectacularly. Mere moments upon Peter's warning being voiced, the sound of muffled footsteps can be heard as it moves around the far corner, and the Marauders immediately spring into action.

Remus is dragged rather roughly against the wall, the light from Peter's wand is doused, and the invisibility cloak is thrown over their figures just moments before Vivian steps into the area. None the wiser, she doesn't seem to be at all cognizant of their presence as she makes her way to the wall that acts as the doorway into the Slytherin commons. The four of them are close enough to hear her murmur, "Serpentem vectem," and the wall immediately begins to change form, its stone blocks twisting out of place and revealing a perfectly rectangular doorway.

Just as Vivian steps through the door, James lifts his wand and whispers, _"Somnium."_ A dull blue glow abruptly swirls around her form, and she pauses, her movements slowing down until she begins to fall backwards. They all rush forward to catch her before she crashes loudly to the ground, abandoning their hiding place just as her eyes slip closed completely.

By some twist of fate (or his long legs), Sirius reaches her first. Her body falls directly into his chest as his arm reaches out to scoop her up. Then, lifting her easily into his arms, he turns to smirk at his friends. Vivian is sleeping peacefully against him, utterly ignorant that she is in the arms of her personal nemesis. Her head falls back, rolling against his arm as her long hair cascades towards the ground. She looks totally at ease, though all four of them know that if she was aware of her current predicament, the sleepy smile that graces her mouth would surely appear far less happy and far more indignant.

"Nice catch, Padfoot," James says with a grin, though Remus isn't as amused.

With a frown, he whispers, "I thought you said no spells!"

It's Peter who is the voice of reason this time, though, when he points out, "It would take way too long for her to fall asleep. Besides, we were gonna stop by the kitchens before heading back to the tower, right?" As usual, his love of food points him in the right direction.

Sirius nods at him and whispers, "I reckon we should have a celebration after this, don't you Moony, Prongs? C'mon, Rem – don't be so uptight. You're no fun when you go into prefect mode."

Obviously in agreement, James pats Remus's shoulder and adds, "Besides, this spell is harmless – and look how happy she is to be in Padfoot's arms." The last bit is gleefully said with an undertone of clear amusement, as if he finds this even more entertaining than the prank that they had spent the afternoon planning.

They all turn their attention to Vivian's expression, which is indeed happier than they've ever seen it. The grace of sleep is truly a formidable one. Vivian is much transformed with that smile on her face, and they all stare at it for a moment longer than is probably wise, considering their situation, because it is such a strange and irregular sight. They rarely see her smile, but it does indeed alter her entire countenance in a way that is both surprising and almost alluring.

Sirius raises an eyebrow at he studies her face and heaves her up in his arms to make sure she doesn't fall. Snorting a bit, he smirks callously at his friends and jokingly mutters, "I always knew she secretly loves me."

The others have mixed reactions to Sirius's baited words. James, naturally, smirks even wider, Remus sighs and rolls his eyes, and Peter whispers, "Let's hurry so we can get some cake."

All agreeing that they should indeed hurry, for various reasons between them, they quietly step into the common room and do a quick sweep of the place to ensure that no one is lingering in the area. Several past excursions into Slytherin territory had taught them to be careful early on in their pranking careers, for one never does know when a Slytherin is prowling around, and their twilight hearts do tend to blend in quite well with the shadows.

Also – past excursions have taught them a thing or two about the girl's dormitories being rather similar to the Gryffindor ones. Boys aren't allowed in the girl's section down here in this dungeon common room, either. James takes the lead as they crept around leather chairs and the eerie green light that somehow manages to shine in from the darkened lake. Unlike the Gryffindor tower, the Slytherin dormitories are not accessed by a flight of stairs going up, but rather a flight going down. The enchantment on the stairs is one that creates an invisible barrier that keeps out anyone who doesn't belong, but they know their way around it by know. They've only been pranking the Slytherins since first year, after all. A quick alteration charm that briefly muddles their auras and confuses the barrier gives them clearance, and they hurry down the twisting staircase to the dorms below.

Finding the seventh year door is simple, though it takes a bit longer to find Vivian's dorm. When they do, Peter is stationed to act as look out just outside the doorway, and Remus ends up staying with him instead of following his two friends into the shadows. His uncertainty regarding this plan is obvious, but it doesn't stop Sirius or James from going through with it, not that this comes as a surprise to anyone. Though Remus likes to pretend to be the mature one of the group, he's just as mischievous as the others. He is, after all, an official Marauder, and also the brains behind many a complicated prank.

This particular prank is, admittedly, not very complicated at all, but it is rather amusing. By the time Sirius and James exit the room some minutes later, they're snickering quietly to each other. They continue their snickering all the way to the kitchens for Peter's celebratory cake, and are more eager than usual to go down to breakfast the next morning. When they do, they aren't disappointed, and even Remus has to admit that as far as their more lighthearted pranks go, this one _does_ have its merits.

After all, seeing Vivian Blair dressed, from head to foot, in bright crimson and golden robes is rather inspiring…as is the fierce scowl on her face when she storms over to the Gryffindor table to confront them.

"You look like you belong over here, Blair. Had a change of heart overnight?" Sirius drawls as he rests his chin in his palm and gives her a look over. His smirk only grows when he sees how little she appreciates his close gaze.

Her eyes flash angrily when she growls, "What. Did. You. Do. To. My. Uniforms."

Though Sirius does have a truly remarkable mask of innocence when he makes the proper effort to conjure it, today it is a bit less reinforced because his eyes are downright laughing at her when he shrugs. He appears as if he's got absolutely no idea what she's talking about, but she knows better.

"_Me?_ _I _didn't do anything. Maybe we should take the Sorting Hat back out and re-sort you. You look like you _really_ want to change houses," is all he says, and when her lips turn down into a frustrated glower, the image of her peaceful sleeping countenance comes charging full-throttle back into his head. Well. He does have to admit that he had rather appreciated her sleepy smile, but to be perfectly frank, the sight of her eyes when she's angry is far better.

Especially when her face begins to match her robes.

James bursts out laughing, choking loudly on his pumpkin juice when he sees how furious Vivian is becoming. They couldn't have made her redder using an actual _spell_.

"I will get you back for this," she threatens Sirius, and then turns her angry eyes on James as a sneer overpowers her face. The look immediately shuts him up (a bit), and he makes a sterling effort at choking down both his laughter and his drink. Vivian just glares. "I know you're in on this too, Potter. You'd better watch your back."

James, for his part, doesn't look very intimidated. Sirius doesn't either. With an innocent smile, he makes a show of moving over to free up some bench space beside him, and says, "Wanna sit down, Godric?"

The nickname makes her sneer deepen, if such a feat is even possible. She looks about ready to snap Sirius's head clean off. Her fingers even twitch at her sides. They all watch as she grits her teeth, turns on her heel, and charges out of the Great Hall like a bat released from hell itself. The moment the door swings shut, the entire Gryffindor table bursts out into laughter and praise, the entire Slytherin table sends frustrated looks their way, and one Lily Evans slams her goblet down onto the tabletop and sends the boys a poignant stare. James, who is still chuckling, immediately shuts up and clears his expression of all humor. Nothing else has quite the same effect on him as an angry Lily.

As for Sirius? Well, as he looks between Lily's furious eyes and James's downturned ones, he decides that he will never – _never_ – let a girl have that much power over his mischief making.

He also decides that Vivian Blair looks rather good in red.


	7. Verum fata

**Chapter Seven | Verum fata**

**[Fate brings truth]**

The afternoon is a beautiful one. The sun makes an appearance in the blue skies and lures students out of the castle between classes to catch some rays of its warmth. Several groups populate the area near the Black Lake. Laughter and conversation can be heard in droves, especially coming from one group in particular.

"The best part, though, was when her face turned as red as her robes," Sirius snickers, pulling his expression into a mocking sneer as he attempts to recreate Vivian's glowering countenance. It isn't a very good replication, but then again, it's rather difficult to copy such a look. When the situation calls for it, Vivian Blair has a very impressive sneer.

Like many other students, the Marauders are spending the remainder of their day basking in the sun. Their ties are loosened and their black robes shucked off as they sit beside the Black Lake and share fond memories of their latest prank. Several other Gryffindors have gathered around them to join in and share the laughter amongst themselves. Any prank involving a Slytherin usually has such an effect.

Marlene McKinnon giggles brightly and leans into Sirius to say, "It _was_ rather clever of you. I do love the way your mind works, Sirius." As she touches the collar of his shirt and smooths it out, it's clear enough that she loves a great many other things about Sirius Black too, and Sirius in turn loves the attention.

With a smirk, he turns his head towards her and catches her eye. Marlene and him have always had one of those relationships that doesn't have a definitive end. Every so often they end up in a heated snogging session. Sirius isn't the sort to have a long-term girlfriend, but everyone knows that Marlene would love to be the first. None of the other Marauders have the heart to tell her that it will probably never happen. Their friend enjoys his freedom too much to let a girl tame him, and the consistent way she throws herself at him only feeds his arrogant nature and his staunch desire to be an eternal bachelor. Of course, being a bachelor doesn't mean that he doesn't have plenty of fun. He's probably been with more girls than anyone else in the school, but his relationships typically only last a week or two before he moves on to the next.

He's restless, and has a certain disposition that makes it difficult for him to trust anyone else besides the friends at his side. Perhaps it's a natural reaction to the familial hardships that he has suffered from these past years; perhaps it's merely because he is Sirius Black, rebellious and independent.

"I still think it's a bad idea, ruffling her feathers like this," Remus inputs as he turns a page in the textbook he's brought with him. Professor Binns had given them an assignment on the 8th century troll wars. The droning lecture that they had suffered through that morning is already escaping his memory, hence his decision to brush up on it before writing the essay they were assigned, which is due tomorrow. Their workload is much increased this year, to such an extent that even Remus is already wondering how he'll accomplish all of their homework, _and_ study for their NEWTs, _and_ perform prefect duties. That's not even including the trouble that Sirius is apparently determined to get them all into this year, since it's their 'last chance to leave an impression'.

His words make Sirius huff and turn away from the heated look he's been bestowing upon Marlene. Eyeing Remus from his spot against the trunk of the great tree that grows beside the lake, he insists, "It was funny. I know you agree. Admit it, Moony."

Remus, for his part, just rolls his eyes and leans into his book in hopes of staving off the amused flicker of his gaze. For all his adamant rebuttals, he does have to admit that it _had_ been rather entertaining. He might not hate Vivian Blair, but a prank is, after all, a prank.

James, who is stretched out on the ground a few feet away, laughs loudly when he sees how hard Remus is trying to keep his smile at bay, and quips, "He thinks it's hilarious, Pads. He just doesn't want to admit that he didn't come up with the idea himself!"

Remus throws James a look that doesn't help his cause, and Sirius barks out a laugh. To their left, Peter is using a notebook as a fan, having given up rereading the dismal notes he had taken that morning, and sends his friends a grin.

"It was a good idea. Not as good as some of our other ones, though," he adds, and flops down to look up at the sky.

Sirius nods thoughtfully and responds, "Too true, Wormtail. Good thing we're going to make this year count." He throws an arm over Marlene's shoulders and she giggles at the way he heaves her into his side.

With a loud, despondent sigh, James murmurs, "Correction: _you're_ going to make it count. _I've_ got to stay out of trouble this year."

Peter turns his head to look at James with raised eyebrows and incredulously says, "I guess your Head-Boy badge means more to you than I thought, Prongs!"

Remus and Sirius just shake their heads, knowing full well why James is so adamant about taking a different approach this year. Peter, though, is eternally in the dark and doesn't connect the dots until James bursts into laughter and snorts, "My badge? Hell no. Wormy, I intend on getting Lily to fall in love with me by the end of the year, which means that my Marauding days are over. Or at least put on hold for the foreseeable future." The addition is added with a tone of hopefulness, as if he's optimistic that if he plays his cards right, he could have the girl of his dreams _and_ keep his Marauding reputation intact.

Sirius snickers and drawls, "You said that yesterday too, but it was _so easy_ to convince you to sneak into the Slytherin common room last night."

In retribution, James grabs Remus's textbook out of his hands and throws it at Sirius, who yelps a bit as it narrowly avoids his head. Remus sighs at their antics and promptly _accios_ his book back.

At Sirius's side, Marlene shoots James a glower and fixes her hair, which had gotten a bit mussed from the textbook attack. As she threads her fingers through the dark blonde strands, she sniffs, "I don't know, James. Lily was pretty annoyed at you last night. She kept going on and on about how none of you have changed. I almost ended up sleeping down in the common room just to escape her whining."

James looks baffled by this. Remus, unsurprised, starts scrawling down a few key facts to use in his essay later. Peter looks bored as he draws out a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from his bookbag. Sirius smirks, draws Marlene closer, and playfully tells her, "You're always welcome in _my_ bed, Marl."

The giggle that promptly leave her lips is easily drowned out by James's grousing. "I didn't even come up with the idea! This was all _Sirius!_ I just went along for the ride!"

If any of them is surprised that this subtlety doesn't make a difference to Lily Evans, they don't show it. This is probably because none of them _are_ surprised – except, obviously, James himself, who frowns deeply and sits up, running a hand through his already messy hair and glowering at the surface of the lake. All the mysteries of the universe play out over his expression. Unraveling the mind of Lily Evans is not a simple task.

"Anyway," Sirius says, waving a hand as if brushing aside James's glower. "I don't know why you're so against the idea of getting just payback on Vivian, Moony. She deserves it."

There are those words again – words that have Remus heaving a quiet sigh as he pauses in his notetaking. He glances up from the list of bullet points he's jotting down on the 8th century troll wars and sends Sirius an exasperated look.

"What, exactly, did she do?" he wonders calmly, knowing that it is the best approach to take. A tone that is heavier would only incite Sirius's defensiveness; a tone much lighter would serve to produce a more joking response. He knows just how to handle Sirius's brash personality by now. Six and a half years of friendship has given him a leg up in regards to dealing with his wayward friends.

James, who is still moodily studying the lake, grumbles, "Besides being a Slytherin? Do we need another reason?"

His response isn't the one that Remus is looking for, though. He keeps his eyes trained to Sirius, who is thoughtfully leaning back on his elbows as he stretches his legs over the grass before him and peers up into the sky. James needs no other reason to dislike Vivian Blair, but his dislike only extends as far as a more generalized mischief making vendetta. She's a Slytherin, therefore a decent target, but not one that he's obsessed with pranking. He targets plenty of other people throughout the various houses just as much, including his fellow Gryffindors. Sirius, on the other hand, seems to have formed an almost singular agenda regarding his pranks on Vivian ever since first year, and they've only gotten more intricate as time went by.

With a shrug, Sirius breezily proclaims, "It's not what she's done; it's what she _could_ have done."

Naturally, his vague words make them all turn to look at him with raised eyebrows, and Sirius in turn looks slightly uncomfortable. This is a rare spectacle, seeing as he usually enjoys attention in any form, whether good or bad.

"Look, it's hard to explain. It's a pureblood thing. None of you would understand," he says, a little gruffly, and doesn't extrapolate.

James laughs incredulously and reminds him, _"I_ might."

But it hardly matters that James is a pureblood too, because he comes from a very different family than Sirius does. His parents have nothing against muggles or muggleborns. They don't care at all for the stringent social divide that had formed the foundations of Sirius's upbringing. They might both be purebloods, but they are very different kinds of purebloods, and as such, they share very different traditions.

Sirius shoots a glance at James and twists his mouth into a wry expression, obviously wondering if he should let them in on his real reasons for disliking Vivian Blair. As he ponders the pros and cons, James rolls his eyes at him and drawls, "I thought your reason is because she calls you a blood traitor all the time."

In turn, Sirius rolls his eyes too and mutters, "Please. Do you know how many times I'm called that? I don't care what she thinks of me." Then, glancing over at Marlene, he nudges her off him and says, "Go on, Marl. I'm dismissing you."

The girl gapes at him, but when she sees that he's being serious, she angrily stands up and says, "Well! See if I let you pull me into a broom closet this year, Sirius Black!"

"Aw, c'mon, Marlene. I just want to have a private conversation with the boys," he tells her, but doesn't sound very sorry about it. He doesn't look sorry, either, when Marlene frowns at him and stomps off, muttering beneath her breath.

Peter watches her go with a baffled expression, partly because he just doesn't understand girls, and partly because he's always a little impressed with how easily Sirius gets his way. Furthermore, they all expect the pair to make up promptly before the week is over, most likely in the very broom closet that Marlene had just sworn off of. Sirius always manages to smooth things over with just a wink and his signature grin, no matter which girl he's got his eye on. They fall like dominos every time, unable to resist his dashing, rebellious charm.

The topic of said charm is not at the top of this particular discussion, however. James nudges his friend with the tip of his shoe and demands, "Well? Tell us. I always thought you just hated Blair because it was fun."

Sirius pointedly moves his shin away from James's shoe and scoffs, "It _is_ fun, but the real reason…" he trails off and sweeps his gaze surreptitiously around the area as if to check for eavesdroppers. His antics only make his friends lean in closer, their curiosity mounting.

"The real reason…" he murmurs, dropping his voice low and catching each other their eyes with deadly solemnity, "…is because she insulted my hair back in second year."

James immediately chokes on his laughter. Remus sighs mournfully and returns to his notebook. Peter nods understandably and pops a Bertie Bott's bean into his mouth, then makes a face and spits it out only seconds later.

"Are you serious?" James demands, and then clamps his mouth shut because every time he asks that question, Sirius smirks, "Why yes, I _am_ Sirius," and it's stopped being amusing a long time ago.

This time, though, Sirius's response is a bit more original when he shrugs, "Well, I've got another reason, but I'm not sure any of you would – "

"Oh just say it already," Remus says impatiently, looking up again from his book now that he knows that Sirius had just been playing around with the hair thing. (Though, in all fairness, his hair _is_ his prized feature.)

They all wait as he pauses, looking a bit more solemn than he had moments before, and then finally sighs, "So you know how a lot of pureblood families arrange marriages for their kids when they're still really young?"

James nods. "Yeah, sure. It's one of those traditions that – wait, hold up a moment," he cuts himself off, eyes widening as he turns to stare at his friend. "You're not about to say what I think you are, right?"

The cringe that overpowers Sirius's face is really all the answer they need. James's mouth falls open in shock. Remus looks similarly shocked as he drops his quill and stares at him, while Peter's eyebrows furrow a bit in confusion, apparently not quite getting the message that his other friends have received. Thankfully (or not), James clears everything up for him a moment later, in a voice that's louder than Sirius appreciates.

"_You're_ _engaged to_ _Vivian Blair?!"_ James exclaims, and Sirius immediately scowls at him and launches forward to slap a hand over his mouth, looking around furtively to ensure that no one had overheard. Thankfully, no one has even looked over at them.

With a hiss, Sirius responds, "No, I'm not! Now shut up, would you? I don't want this getting around – it would ruin my reputation!"

Remus rubs his forehead and says, "I think you'd better explain this, Padfoot."

Sirius huffs. "I would if you'd _let_ me." They all quiet down, and he sighs, "I _was_ betrothed to her way back when we were kids, but once I got sorted into Gryffindor, her parents decided I was no good for her and broke it off. As you can all imagine, I was _very_ happy when I got the news." His friends nod agreeably and he adds, "As you all know, my parents decided I was no good for the _renowned_ house of Black, too, and that I wasn't worth the effort to pair off. It really all worked out in the end and everyone's all the happier for it."

With that, he leans back and nods, apparently content with his explanation, however brief. In truth, there is little more to say on the matter. His betrothal to Vivian had lasted only a few years, from when he was about six years old to when he was sorted into Gryffindor. He hadn't seen much of her as a child, only being in the same vicinity as her a handful of times during Christmas parties and the like, and hadn't had a reason to get to know her at Hogwarts either. She got sorted into Slytherin like the rest of her family, properly living up to the Blair legacy and making her parents proud; while he got sorted into Gryffindor and did the exact opposite. The betrothal was broken off only a little while after that, much to the anger of his mother, who had hoped that a union with the Blair family might rectify his own failings. When it hadn't, the mother-son relationship had gone downhill ever since.

His three friends stare at him for a long moment before their reactions bubble to the surface. Sirius looks a bit indignant when James ends up bursting into laughter with Remus closely following him. Even Peter lets out a few chuckles, though it's only because his other friends seem to find it so amusing.

"Oh Merlin, this is too much," James gasps, flopping down into the grass and snickering madly. He's laughing so hard that his eyes are getting a bit watery. Remus, who is always so calm and collected, doesn't look at all apologetic to be laughing as well. In fact, his wolfish grin is wide and encompassing, and looks almost out of place on his normally composed face.

With a frown, Sirius demands, _"What_ is so funny about this?"

_He_ certainly doesn't find it funny. In fact, it's been a thorn in his side for _years_ now.

James and Remus calm down a bit and sober up – until, of course, they happen to look over at each other, and that one little look is enough to send them both reeling back into their laughter. As for Peter, he's stopped pretending to chuckle and is now focusing his attention back to his bag of Bertie Bott's while he shrugs at Sirius. Unfortunately, his feeble attempt at backing him up is exactly that: feeble. It doesn't make Sirius feel any better at all.

James wipes his eyes and says in a tight voice, still stricken with laughter, "It's just – I thought there would be an _actual_ reason for you hating her. You know, like an evil thing she's done to you or something."

Upon hearing this, Sirius's mouth drops open and he indignantly declares, "That _is_ a real reason! And it _is_ evil!"

His insistence only makes James laugh harder, though Remus is starting to calm down enough to say in a relatively straight voice, "So basically what you're saying is that you hate Vivian Blair because of something both your parents decided when you were children, even though that decision ended up not even coming to fruition because it was broken _years_ ago."

Sirius opens his mouth to give him a retort, pauses, then settles for a muttered, "Yeah. And because she made fun of me for it all throughout first year by saying that I'd never live up to the Black legacy because no pureblood family would have me."

This, at least, makes James stop laughing. He frowns and proclaims, _"I'll_ have you, Padfoot!"

Sirius's mouth twitches into a smile, and he points out, "Yeah, but I'm not gonna marry _you,_ Prongs."

James snickers, inches closer to him, then dramatically flutters his eyelashes as he says, "You heartbreaker. Personally, I think I'd make a half decent wife."

Sirius's only response is to roll his eyes and shove him away.

As James tumbles backwards with an exaggerated _'oof'_, Peter thoughtfully hums, "I think that's a good reason to hate her, Padfoot. I probably would too."

From the grass, James snorts and drawls, "Yeah, but let's face it, you're never gonna get married, Wormtail. To get yourself a girl, you actually have to pay attention to them."

Peter doesn't look overly offended by this and just shrugs as he pops another bean into his mouth and makes a disgusted face upon swallowing it.

"Anyway, I wasn't expecting this," Remus says after a moment of silence, and glances over at Sirius with a careful expression. Sirius notices, of course, and raises an eyebrow questionably at him. Shrugging, Remus explains, "It just seems silly to hate someone over something that they had absolutely no say in. I mean, it's not like she asked to be engaged to you – or that she asked for it the be broken."

James hums and adds, "Yeah, but she _is_ a Slytherin, so I guess it's okay."

Remus rolls his eyes. He puts his textbook down and shakes his head as he says, "Regardless of what house she's in, the point is that he doesn't have a good reason to hate her. He just does on principle."

Sirius frowns at him and defensively reminds him, "Did you not hear about how she made fun of me during our entire first year? _That's_ a reason. Plus she's a foul person overall."

As if he doesn't even hear him (which annoys Sirius to no end and they all know it), Remus goes on to say, "Oh, and another thing – this year, he seems to be noticing her more than usual. So we have to ask ourselves: why the sudden interest, Padfoot?"

The diplomatic question makes them all turn to stare at him curiously, much to Sirius's annoyance. James's eyes flash with amusement. Remus tilts his head patiently. Peter rests his chin on his palm and lifts his attention away from his candy for a moment longer than usual.

Spluttering, Sirius repeats, _"Sudden interest?_ What are you getting at, Moony?"

His lack of a good response makes James's mouth curl up into that _look_ – the one he always gets when he's about to wreak havoc on unsuspecting victims. The one that tells everyone in the general vicinity to watch out because something bad is about to happen. The one that makes girls swoon while simultaneously making them want to run in the opposite direction lest they get caught in the crossfire of an epic prank.

Oh, Sirius knows _that_ look, alright.

"Now that you mention it, Moony," James drawls, his eyes glinting mischievously in the sunlight. "It is rather odd that Padfoot is so intent on pranking her. He almost seems…_preoccupied."_

Remus's mouth twitches as a grin threatens to overcome him, but Sirius is not nearly as amused. With an unimpressed glower, his lips curl up distastefully and he scoffs, "I am not _preoccupied_ with Vivian Blair."

His rebuttal doesn't seem to help his case though. James raises an eyebrow and slowly quips, "She _has_ gotten rather pretty over the summer. She's a bit more…developed, you know what I mean? Have you noticed, Moony?"

Sirius is starting to look downright dangerous, but it certainly doesn't frighten off his friends. Not even one of Sirius's glares could ever hope to tame _the_ _look_ that James currently has on his face.

Remus clears his throat to wipe out the humor in his voice when he replies, "Oh, I think we've _all_ noticed, Prongs."

Gritting his teeth, Sirius firmly denies, "I _do not_ like Blair."

James coughs to hide a laugh (he fails spectacularly) and then says, "I never said you _liked_ her, Padfoot. I merely speculated that you secretly think she's fit and that you're tempted to break your rule and drag her into a broom closet."

Said rule being that Sirius Black will never, for any reason whatsoever – not even if the girl is ridiculously attractive with a body that's to die for – date, mess around with, or pay homage to a Slytherin. It's a rule that he happens to take very seriously, and to their knowledge, he hasn't broken it even once despite the many offers he's had over the years from various Slytherin females. Regardless of house boundaries, not even those girls are immune to Sirius Black's deadly charm. Alas, Sirius is immune to _them_.

With a barking snort, Sirius responds, "That's ridiculous. There's absolutely _nothing_ about her that I find _at all_ attractive. Stop looking at me like that, Moony. Contrary to popular belief, you do _not_ know everything."

Remus purses his mouth, biting back a smile. "Just so _you_ know, Padfoot, Blair is walking right towards you."

With a jolt, Sirius immediately sits up straight and casts a glance over his shoulder. As he does, James and Remus burst into laughter again and Sirius glowers at them. There is no trace of Vivian Blair on the school grounds. Her bright red and gold uniform would definitely give her away, seeing as she still hasn't managed to change her clothes back to how they're supposed to be. This only further proves to him that, despite Remus's quiet demeanor, he should never be underestimated.

"Oh sod off," Sirius mutters, and reaches over to grab a handful of Bertie Bott's from Peter's large bag. But even when he starts chucking them at his two friends, it doesn't lessen their snickers in the least.

* * *

The Marauders' teasing has worn off by the time the next class is scheduled. At least the teasing that's directed at Sirius. In Potions, Slughorn does a double-take when he catches sight of his own house prefect striding into his classroom wearing bright red and gold robes. That Vivian appears to be some over-zealous Gryffindor wannabe seems to baffle him into speechlessness, and he casts surreptitious glances at her through the entire lecture. The Gryffindor side of the room is dying by the end of class, trying to keep their laughter down, and Vivian's face switches from her usual pale complexion to the color of her robes every time she catches one of them smirking at her.

It only gets better in Transfiguration, when McGonagall takes one look at her and her thin eyebrows shoot straight up into her hairline.

"Miss Blair…that is quite an…outfit you're wearing. I had no idea you appreciated Gryffindor so much," she says, looking both confused as well as strangely amused. Still, it certainly doesn't sway her disciplinary mind when she adds, "Of course, you are technically out of dress code. I expect to see you in your proper uniform during our next class."

The fact that she lets it slide this time (well, she is the head of Gryffindor house) only makes Vivian even more annoyed, which is extremely amusing and Sirius has to literally stuff his fist against his mouth to avoid breaking out into uncontrollable laughter – especially when she turns in her seat to glare fitfully at him from a sea of black and emerald.

Indeed, her Slytherin housemates do not seem to know what to make of it either. Their primary reaction appears to be frustration, but it is the manner in which they express it that is so entertaining to the Marauders. Some of them direct their annoyance towards the four of them specifically, somehow knowing that they are to blame for their housemate's predicament. (It isn't that much of a leap, considering their history.) Still others are more frustrated with Vivian herself, as if they actually think that one of their own has made an abrupt, out-of-the-blue decision to become a turncoat. It's those reactions that are the very best.

"So, you fancy yourself a Gryffindor these days, do you?" Regulus asks her as he passes her in the halls later that afternoon. The corner of his mouth is just barely uplifted and his dark grey eyes are blanched with silvery amusement that is heavily curtained. If Vivian was anyone else, she might actually think that his tone is aggravated instead of purposefully rough to hide said amusement. As it is, his inquiry only makes her groan and walk a little faster, casting an envious glance at his emerald and black uniform and wishing that she could wrangle it off of him and –

Well, not like _that_. She just wants to trade. His pristine black and emerald robes are a thing to be envious of, and she'd do just about anything right now to return her own uniform to its proper condition. Unfortunately, none of the spells that she's tried have worked, despite her penchant for charms. Whatever spell the Marauders used to turn her robes such a repulsive color is a pretty advanced one – a fact that makes her both frustrated as well as grudgingly impressed.

In any case, Regulus's normal outfit is making her even more frustrated than before, and she walks a little faster. He easily falls into step with her, his longer legs catching up to her fast stride within seconds.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, but I don't really think red is your color," he tells her with a shrug. She huffs and is about to respond when someone beats her to it.

"Really? I think red looks spectacular on her," a voice drawls from the windows, and both Vivian and Regulus turn to see the Marauders lounging against the space. Well, half of the Marauders. Sirius and Remus are obviously waiting for their next class, but Potter and Worm-fellow (or whatever his nickname is) aren't around so that's a plus, at least. Vivian sends Sirius a particularly nasty sneer that doesn't even make him bat an eye at her. No, it's Regulus who really manages to get a reaction from his rebellious older brother.

"She's a Slytherin. Not a Gryffindor," he says, sounding distinctly annoyed even though, moments before, he had been joking around. Or, at least, it had sort of sounded like it. She's never seen a playful side to Regulus before, but she figures it's probably full of his usual dry sarcasm.

Sirius's eyes darken imperceptibly. He pushes off of the wall as he retorts, "That doesn't mean she can't wear a bit of red every now and then."

Beside them, also leaning against the window ledge, Remus calmly watches the scene with cautious eyes. He seems content to sit there and let the brothers have at it for now.

Regulus's eyebrows raise into a sardonic expression, looks over at Vivian's extremely red and gold robes, and takes a step towards Sirius to scorn, _"A bit_ of red? It's obvious that you had something to do with this. If I find out that you snuck into her dorm, of all places – "

"You'll what, write to mummy?" Sirius sarcastically throws back, and barks out a laugh. "Please. That trick stopped working years ago. I don't care what that old hag thinks."

It's common knowledge that the Black siblings don't really get along. They usually outright ignore each other, but every so often, they get into arguments in passing. Vivian has always found their relationship to be odd. Not because of the obvious – that Sirius is the black sheep of the family and that Regulus is the prodigal son – but because their arguments always come across as being fueled by something resembling protectiveness. Instead of arguing for argument's sake, they usually seem more like a way that the brothers acknowledge each other. It's confusing and backwards.

Regulus's eyes flash. "When are you going to get it into your thick skull that this isn't a way to treat a girl? You're so disrespectful – "

"I've never had a girl complain about the way I've treated them," Sirius cuts in with a dashing smirk. As if to prove his point, he winks at a group of Hufflepuffs who are lingering nearby, no doubt waiting for the same class, and they break out into whispered giggles. Then, crossing his arms, Sirius nods at Vivian and adds, "Besides, she's not a girl."

Before Regulus can say anything else, Vivian rolls her eyes and sarcastically wonders, "Then what, pray tell, am I?"

Sirius smirks vividly at her and starts to say, "You're a b – "

"Don't call me a bitch," she snaps at him before he can finish, and he raises his hands in surrender.

"I was gonna say a 'bat out of hell', actually," he says innocently. She could honestly strangle him, especially when he snickers, "It's nice to know how lowly you think of yourself, though, Blair."

Remus sighs and tilts his head back to lean against the window pane.

Regulus straightens his robes, making sure to flash his prefect badge at Sirius (as if he actually thinks that this will frighten him), and drawls, "Don't cross the line, Sirius. You might regret it."

Like Remus, Vivian also sighs. Regulus must know that this sort of comment will only entice Sirius to rebel against him. They are brothers, after all. He can't have gotten _that_ out of tune with how Sirius's mind works. As expected, Sirius's reaction is precisely what Vivian assumes it will be: raised eyebrows, a smug expression, and a sardonic, "Ooh, are you _protecting_ her, Reg?"

The question is dryly amused. It makes Vivian frown, because before this moment, it hadn't crossed her mind that Regulus might be doing just that. _Is_ he protecting her? She's not sure why he would be. After all, they barely know each other.

Regulus rolls his eyes and calmly replies, "She's a Slytherin. Of course I'm protecting her. She's in my house and I'm a prefect. You're such an idiot sometimes."

Well, apparently Regulus is still quite in tune with his brother, because this very calm response does wonders at annoying Sirius. Grey eyes flash – two pairs, to be exact – like rainstorms colliding in an ocean. This argument doesn't seem to be anything like some of the other ones Vivian's witnessed, but she doesn't know why it's suddenly changed just because she's somehow gotten involved in it. She wouldn't have expected herself to be a variable in their blood feud, and yet she can't shake the feeling that she has somehow become one.

Grumbling beneath her breath, Vivian sends Sirius a glare and snaps, "If your childish prank doesn't go away by dinner, I'll make sure you don't have an evening to yourself for the rest of the term, Black."

She really should have known that this would only make Sirius cough out a laugh and say, "You want me that badly, huh? You could have just asked."

Regulus's eyes darken, but Vivian is quite finished with having him step into the unexpected role of her personal savior and she just breezily replies, "Maybe next time, I'll make you use that toothbrush on the owlery floor."

She sends him one last narrowed look before stepping off with a flourish of her bright red robes, and Sirius smirks. His eyes slid back to Regulus as Vivian stomps away. His younger brother is visibly annoyed, which is a rather rare thing to behold because he's always so closed-off. Sirius tilts his head curiously and, in a slightly less hostile voice, wonders, "Why _are_ you protecting her, Reg? You aren't even friends."

And just like that, his brother shuts away his annoyance, and all his emotions really, and lets out a quiet scoff as he coldly stares at him.

"…Purebloods will have to stick together from now on, and Vivian is going to have to choose the right side," Regulus slowly says, his eyes burning like a firestorm of grey. He sends his older brother a dark look and adds, "It would be in her best interest not to associate with the likes of you."

Just as quickly as Regulus had cloistered away his emotions, Sirius's rush forth at full throttle. He takes a threatening step forward, no doubt to give Regulus a piece of his mind and to remind him that he's being far too idealistic about their family, but before he can, his brother shakes his head at him and turns to stalk off in the other direction, and Remus puts a hand on Sirius's arm before he can follow.

"We have class," he reminds his friend, and tugs him back to the window ledge. Sirius crosses his arms and snorts.

"…Purebloods sticking together…what's that supposed to mean, anyway?" he mutters to Remus, who hesitates before reaching into his bag and pulling out the Daily Prophet. It's yesterday's edition, but the headline is just as impactful as it had been when he'd read it the day before.

"Probably this," Remus says quietly, and hands it over.

It's nothing they haven't seen before. These days, muggleborn murders have become much more commonplace. It had started increasing in frequency over the summer and has only picked up since then. It seems that at least once a week, if not more, there is some story or another detailing the grotesque murder of yet another muggleborn wizard – or, in some cases, gruesome torture. Some of the victims manage to pull through with their lives, but they are irrevocably altered by what they had experienced. It's disgusting, and unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be slowing down.

Sirius's jaw clenches as he studies the image that's printed on the front page. A Dark Mark cuts through the sky above a dilapidated home. The snake moves through the skull, its mouth a cloudy shadow; a harbinger of death and evil at its most refined. The only thing in the image that isn't moving are the two bodies that are sprawled out in the yard. One is halfway strewn against the steps leading into the house; the other face-down in the grass several feet away. If the image itself isn't telltale enough, the caption makes it doubly clear.

'**Two Muggleborns Found Dead Outside Brighton'**

Repulsed and suddenly sick to his stomach, Sirius shoves the Prophet back into Remus's arms and scrubs a hand over his face.

"I _knew_ that Blair was going down that road. Half the Slytherin house probably is – mark my words, Moony," he hisses, and Remus frowns.

His voice is hesitant when he murmurs, "You don't know that. Regulus only said – "

"That she's going to pick a side," he interrupts in a quiet voice, lest they be overheard. He turns to catch Remus's eye and solemnly says, "As a pureblood witch from a notoriously Slytherin family, what side do _you_ think she's going to choose?"

It's obviously a rhetorical question, and also one that Remus doesn't have a straight answer to. While it's true that he's never outright disliked Vivian Blair, he also doesn't really know her very well. Sirius had gotten off of the pureblood supremacist path early on when he was sorted in Gryffindor, and hadn't looked back even when he severed his last remaining ties with his family and moved in with the Potter's. Vivian…well, he's got no idea if she would be willing or even able to do the same thing.

But surely such a drastic measure would indeed be necessary? By the way things appear to be heading in the wizarding world, Remus highly doubts that she could remain in a passive role indefinitely. Though he hates to admit it, Regulus is probably right: she will have to choose a side. They will all have to choose a side.

The question is _which_ side? The easy road, the low road – the road that's natural and straightforward and meaningless, because it doesn't require any sacrifices to be made? Or the one that requires all the sacrifices in the world – the one that steals from you your youth, your safety, even your life?

In this moment, as Remus stands in the hallway and silently ponders things that should be beyond the magnitude or the interest of a seventh year student, he does not expect that he will ever find out which road Vivian chooses. After all, she belongs to an entirely separate world from him, and by all rights they should never cross paths at all. Of course, he doesn't at this moment take into account the design of fate, and that despite its outward appearances and its wayward reputation, no one is immune to the pull of it.

Not even Vivian Blair.


	8. Mutum est pictura poema

**Chapter Eight | Mutum est pictura poema**

**[The picture is a silent poem]**

By the next day, Vivian's robes thankfully return to their normal emerald and black coloring. When she slides them onto her shoulders, she feels so relieved that she heaves a great sigh and ends up getting some weird looks from her dormmates. As they eye her, Vivian shoots them all annoyed looks and mutters, "What? I'm happy is all."

Rosalind giggles and turns back to sliding a pair of knee socks up her shins, while Morrigan smirks and drawls, "Those robes were horrendous. At least now I'll be able to look at you without wanting to vomit."

Vivian hums dryly and replies, "You and me both."

Outside of this room, Vivian doesn't talk much with her dormmates. In fact, it wouldn't be a lie to say that she associates very little with her own house. It had never been something she'd planned upon first starting Hogwarts. Rather, Vivian has always been the sort of person who prefers her own company, values her personal freedoms, and finds irreparable fault in any situation or person that infringes upon the time for which she has set aside for herself.

Some part of this preference in character can doubtlessly be traced back to her childhood. Having had no brothers or sisters to play with, she would often find other ways of entertaining herself. She quickly became well-versed in all manners of one-person games, from tree climbing to woodland explorations to flower hunting, until her mother would call her inside and scold her for dirtying her clothes. Alas, her treks into becoming a tom-boy did not last very long before she was sat down and tutored by her mother in the ways of ladylike etiquette, and unfortunately any berry-picking or beetle-hunting would simply have to wait. In any case, it is surely the notion and experiences of being an only child that has made Vivian prefer her own company as an adult.

This, of course, doesn't mean that she isn't friendly to or talkative to others. After the girls finish changing into their uniforms, straighten out their emerald and silver ties, and grab their bookbags, they make their way up the stairs that leads to the common room and discuss a subject that both Rosalind and Morrigan love most of all: the handsome and dashing Sirius Black. As for Narcissa, any discussion regarding her wayward cousin is one that she prefers to ignore, and today is just the same. She abandons them the moment she catches sight of Lucius, looking pleased to not take part in contributing to her friend's girlish talk.

"I don't know if I'm jealous of you for getting his attention, or just happy that it wasn't me," Morrigan smirks, nudging Vivian's shoulder as they step into the large room filled with leather chairs and emerald notions. Vivian sends her a look and, on her other side, Rosalind laughs.

"Jealous? Really?" Vivian dryly repeats, sounding incredulous at the prospect.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow at her as they weave around the chairs to reach the door of the common room, and shrugs, "He's hot, for a blood traitor. It's a shame he doesn't go for Slytherin girls. I'd be first in line."

Before Vivian can vomit, Rosalind chirps, "Me too! He's dreamy. I heard from Anne Hornbuck that he's a really good kisser – and that isn't all he's good at." The smirk she sends the other two girls is full of insinuation.

Vivian sends her a weird glance and asks, "You talk to Anne Hornbuck?"

Not that it's necessarily out of the ordinary for Slytherins to speak with members of other houses, but Anne is the probably the last person alive that Vivian would associate with. She's a rather pretty Ravenclaw in their year, but she's got an ego a mile high and fancies herself to be better than everyone around her. Vivian doesn't know if it's just a misplaced sense of Ravenclaw pride or a personality flaw.

Rosalind shrugs. "I heard her talking to her friends about it the other day. Apparently, Black has already been caught in a broom closet three times, and we're hardly a week into the school term!"

Morrigan laughs upon hearing this, but Vivian is far less amused. Sirius is notorious for his dealings with the opposite sex. At worse, he's a disgusting sex-crazed maniac with a tendency for flaunting his latest deeds to the entire school for attention; at best, he's a lady's man with a serious aptitude for making girls crazy whenever he flashes them his signature crooked smile, which is administered often and with much zeal. Vivian prefers to think of him in terms of the former, but she sometimes thinks that she's the only one in the school who does. Even many of her fellow Slytherins are mad for him despite the vendetta he's got against them.

Everyone seems to want a piece of Sirius Black. Vivian honestly doesn't understand it. Sure, he's handsome – strikingly so, with his dusky grey eyes and perfectly mussed hair. His body is a work of art, all chiseled and angled as if reflecting the qualities of Grecian sculpture at its finest. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle with a glimmer of mischief that has the ability to make even the most headstrong female lose herself. In terms of physical beauty, Sirius Black has it all.

It is everything _else_ about him that Vivian finds so deplorable. He might be handsome, but his beauty doesn't make up for his many flaws. His pranks go too far, sometimes. He has a misplaced sense of Gryffindor pride that makes him think that he's better than everyone else in the castle. His arrogance knows no bounds, and he jumps to conclusions too quickly, relying only on instinct and emotion to guide his way. He is nothing but an ego-driven, pompous idiot who uses his pitiable family circumstances for attention.

"Disgusting," Vivian sneers, much to her friends' amusement.

Morrigan and Rosalind share a glance and start laughing, but Vivian merely pushes past them, quite done with this discussion.

"She totally thinks he's fit," Rosalind says as they watch her leave.

Morrigan smirks. "Everyone does. I don't think there's a woman alive who's immune to him."

They share another glance and laugh again.

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts that afternoon is…surprising. Vivian walks into class exuding a confidence that is entirely made up of being back in her regular uniform, without any red or gold on her person whatsoever. However, when she learns what they'll be focusing on over the next few weeks, her confidence takes a plummet.

"The Patronus is a very powerful charm," Professor Anderson says as he steps over to the blackboard. A well dispersed sea of students from all four houses sit, enraptured, at the prospect of learning about this spell. It is famously difficult to cast and requires immense concentration.

"With enough effort, you will all hopefully produce a corporeal Patronus by the end of the term. I don't expect you'll be able to do it immediately, which is why we'll be taking an extended amount of time to cover this spell. In addition to working on practical application, we'll also be studying the types of dark creatures that you can use the Patronus charm to defend against. This is a rather complicated spell with many uses."

Professor Anderson takes a piece of chalk, turns to the class, and announces, "Take out some parchment, please. The Patronus charm first comes through as a very bright light. The pure nature of the spell protects the wielder against most dark creatures, but the common use of the spell is to ward against dementors. We'll be going into more detail on dementors, specifically, next week. For now, I'd like to focus on the corporeal form that a Patronus might take on."

Vivian hurries to take out her inkpot and quill, jotting down the bullet points that Professor Anderson writes on the blackboard. The entire class seems very interested in learning about this subject, and she reckons that there are various reasons for it. Besides the gathering darkness in the wizarding world with the rise of Lord Voldemort, the Patronus spell is a fascinating one, and highly personal to the witch or wizard that produces it.

"It's difficult to predict what form your Patronus might take on, as it is reflects the characteristics of the wielder. I once knew a wizard whose Patronus was a sheep – not a very impressive form, to be sure, but it certainly reflected his nature in that he was rather…well, let's say a bit of a blabbermouth." A few students chuckle at this, and Professor Anderson smiles, "Regardless, whatever your Patronus's corporeal form may be, it will most certainly mirror your personality traits."

A hand shoots up from the Ravenclaw side of the room, and Professor Anderson pauses in his lecture to say, "Yes, Gavin?"

The Ravenclaw prefect immediately asks, "I read that the Patronus can change form throughout a person's life. Is this true, Professor?"

"Ah, yes," Anderson responds, turning to face the class as he leans against the edge of his desk. "It is true. A Patronus is constructed from happy memories. When you experience a newer, stronger memory, your Patronus can very well change as a result. It isn't very uncommon, actually."

Professor Anderson goes over several main points about the spell, including its primary uses, the wand movement required to cast it, and several more examples of corporeal forms. The first half of the class is composed of notetaking. Vivian wishes that the entire class might follow the same theme, but alas, she isn't that lucky.

"Now, I'm sure most of you already know quite a bit about the Patronus. Perhaps some of you can already cast one. We've got half an hour left, so why don't we move the desks out of the way and practice for a bit? All you need to do is summon the happiest memory you possess. The stronger, the better. Let's start moving these chairs – careful now…"

Within only a few minutes, the desks have all been shifted out of the way, and the classroom is transformed. The center of it is clear of all furniture and the students gather around it as they wait for Professor Anderson to give them further instruction. Vivian stands with her fellow Slytherins by the door, her wand in her hand and her arms crossed as she tries to think about what memory could possibly be strong enough to produce an actual Patronus charm. Across the room, the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs are interspersed together. Their side of the room is much louder than hers as they all chat amongst themselves and theorize what their corporeal Patronuses might look like. The Marauders are the loudest of them all.

"Hey Miller, I'll bet you five galleons that my Patronus will be a stag," James says, nudging a fellow Gryffindor with a wide smirk. Sirius sends him an amused look and shakes his head, but Miller doesn't catch the exchange and just raises doubtful eyebrows at his housemate.

"How could you possible know that?" Miller demands.

James shrugs innocently and says, "I just have a feeling is all. Why, you don't think I share the characteristics of a stag?"

A scoff sounds as Lily mutters, "What, proud and egotistical?"

Sirius snickers at James's responding expression, which is half offended and half eager that Lily had even talked to him at all. Naturally, he wastes very little time as he leans towards her to swing his arm around her shoulders and say, "I'll have you know that stags are fiercely protective beasts."

From the side, Sirius adds, "And very sensitive."

James shrugs. "Yeah, sure. And gentle I guess."

"And virile."

"Definitely virile – oof!"

Lily shoves his arm off of her and makes a sound of disgust in the back of her throat as she pointedly steps away from him. Across the room, Vivian hides a smirk in the collar of her robes as Professor Anderson steps up to demonstrate his Patronus for them.

A vibrant, bright light emits from his wand, quickly followed by a beautiful horse. As it gallops forward, its powerful strides deliver it just above the circle of students. It moves around the classroom twice before he flicks his wand and it fades away just as it lands down upon the center of the clearing. The moment it disappears, the entire class bursts out into clapping and excited murmurs.

Professor Anderson raises his hands to quiet them all down and chuckles, "Having a corporeal form is all well and good, but it takes a lot of time and practice to produce one. I highly doubt that any of you will be able to reach this level of skill in one class. If anyone is able to properly cast the spell today, then I shall be very surprised. Even summoning a small amount of light can take time."

His words don't seem to dissuade many students, though, especially James, who merely sets his shoulders back and confidently crosses his arms.

"Now I want you all to think of the happiest memory you have. Close your eyes and let it fill you entirely, and then lift your wands and say the incantation. Remember the wand movements!"

Everyone quickly readies their wands and closes their eyes. Vivian is slightly less eager. It isn't that she lacks any happy memories at all; it's merely that she knows how powerful the Patronus charm is, and she isn't sure if she has any memories that will suffice.

The room is soon filled with many voices chanting _'Expecto Patronum'_ as students attempt the spell. She closes her eyes and thinks back to her childhood, perusing through memories of basking in sunlight and running through the Blair manor. She thinks about how excited she'd been to receive her Hogwarts letter, and how proud she was to be sorted into Slytherin, and how happy she was when she made the Slytherin Quidditch team back in fourth year. She thinks about long summer days spent alone in the meadow beyond the manor, laying in the tall grasses with a book in her lap as Mr. Darcy ardently spoke of his long silent affection for Elizabeth on the pages before her.

Then, lifting her wand, she says aloud, _"Expecto Patronum,"_ and opens her eyes.

Nothing happens.

To be honest, she isn't very surprised by this. The only consolation is that she is not the only student whose memory doesn't seem to be strong enough. In fact, most of the class can't produce even the smallest amount of light. There is one, though, who manages to impress both student and professor when he doesn't only summon a very bright light from his wand, but also a fully formed Patronus as well.

James Potter must have practiced this spell before, because there is absolutely no way that it's his first attempt. If the conversation about the stag Patronus isn't convincing enough, then his utter confidence surely backs it up. The large stag that leaps from the tip of his wand is magnificent, and as it shoots around the classroom, everyone turns to gape at him.

As for James, he just smirks widely and throws Lily a wink, mouthing, 'virile' at her. She turns red, glares at him, and turns away.

True to his word, Professor Anderson is immensely surprised.

"Merlin! Never have I seen such an accomplishment, Mr. Potter – and during our first lesson on Patronuses, too! Well done! Twenty points to Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindors let out a cheer, and James turns strangely bashful. He clears his throat and says, "Thanks, professor," as he reaches up to rub his nose and looks down.

"Your memory must have been very powerful," Professor Anderson adds, and James turns a little pink.

No one misses the way his eyes dart back to Lily. Conversely, no one misses the way Lily's expression morphs into a strange compilation of surprise, embarrassment, and pleasure as she, too, notices. Marlene nudges her with a wide grin and Lily rubs her cheek as if she's trying to physically push away her blush.

But, just as the class begins to settle down a bit, everyone realizes that James isn't the only one who is able to cast a corporeal Patronus. The stag is just beginning to fade away when suddenly a large dog erupts from Sirius's wand and crashes right into it, tearing through the Patronus with an accuracy that can only be purposeful. The large scruffy dog charges into James's stag and makes it dissipate, then bounds around the room before stopping in front of Sirius, who is wearing a mischievous grin that is no doubt due to the fact that he has stolen James's thunder.

James elbows him for the trick, but Professor Anderson is full of praise.

"My word! I am very impressed with Gryffindor today – very impressed!" he gushes, and proceeds to give them an additional twenty points, much to the supreme happiness of the rest of their house. "Well done! Now, the rest of you should continue to practice outside of class. Don't be too disheartened; like I said, it takes time to master this spell. I'd like you all to write an essay on the uses of Patronus charms for our next class, where we'll be discussing in greater detail the types of creatures that this spell will ward against."

Vivian is relieved to be able to leave. As the class is dismissed, she quickly packs up her things and hurries into the hallway. A part of her is shocked at how easily Potter and Black had managed to cast the spell. She endeavors to practice it before the next class in order to not fall behind. After all, if _they_ can do it, then so can she. As she's slipping out of the classroom, she hears the tail end of Sirius's explanation of his happy memory. Needless to say, she isn't very impressed.

" – Yeah, getting into Ophelia's skirt in the broom closet on the third floor was literally the best moment of my life," he's boasting, much to the amusement of his fellow Marauders and the other Gryffindor boys. Suffice to say that none of the girls are nearly as amused, especially Marlene, who rolls her eyes and pushes past him, making sure to knock into his shoulder on her way. He starts calling her name ("You'd easily come in second for good memories, Marl!") when he catches sight of Vivian turning to leave.

Crossing his arms, Sirius snarks, "I didn't see any Patronuses from the Slytherin end of the room. What's wrong, Blair? No happy memories worth using?"

Vivian pauses, sighs, and turns to face him. The frustrated but resigned expression on her face is due entirely to the fact that, even though she tries to steer clear of him when possible, Sirius Black seems to have it out for her.

"It was only the first class, Black. Don't be arrogant," she replies, and shoots a look at some of the other Gryffindors who have paused to watch the confrontation. Why everything needs to be so public with him is beyond her, but she reckons it has something to do with his big head and his childish need for attention.

Peter and Remus file out of the class to join their friends, but Sirius doesn't notice. He's too busy smirking at her and drawling, "Maybe _you_ should spend some time in a broom closet, Godric. If you don't scare anyone away with that sneer of yours, it might give you good memories too. And loosen the stick up your arse at the same time."

The gathered students snicker at this, and Vivian grits her teeth, feeling herself flush a bit at the insinuation that his words conjure. James chokes back a wave of laughter, thumping on his chest as he tries to reel it in. Remus shakes his head and brushes past them on his way to his next class. Peter loiters nearby, unsure if he should stay or go. Sirius sends Vivian his crooked smile – the one that makes every girl fall for him with a single glance – and waits.

He doesn't have to wait for very long.

"How dare you – "

"She's _blushing!_ What, haven't you ever had fun in a broom closet before?" Sirius laughs, eyeing her reddening cheeks with a gleeful expression.

Thoroughly rattled at being the target of this sort of harassment, Vivian snarks, "I'm not a whore like you are, Black. And don't call me Godric."

Sirius only smirks wider. "I'd show you the ropes, but I wouldn't be caught dead with you."

She laughs cuttingly and retorts, "I'm glad we agree on something, at least. I'd rather throw myself off the astronomy tower."

"Oh, well in that case, maybe we should find the nearest broom closet after all."

"Only if you throw yourself off the tower too."

"Ouch. Well, if it'd rid the world of you, I might be convinced to make the sacrifice for the greater good. Seven o'clock tonight, then?"

"You're making me actually want to throw up."

"You can do that and jump off the astronomy tower at the same time, right? That would be an amusing sight."

"I'd rather – "

"What is going on out here?" a voice suddenly interrupts, and everyone's attention is pulled to the doorway of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Professor Anderson is standing in the threshold as he gapes at the sight of his two students going at it outside of his classroom.

Before this moment, Vivian doesn't realize just how close she actually is to Sirius. They're only about a foot apart, having inched closer during their hate-filled dialogue without her even noticing. Not only that, but both of their wands are drawn and in their hands, which doesn't make for a very good image, as it only further solidifies the idea that they both want to kill each other.

Over Sirius's shoulder, Vivian sees James staring at the two of them with a baffled expression on his face. He seems partially humored by this turn of events, and partially confused at how oddly it had escalated. After all, Sirius's one rule is to never fraternize with the 'enemy' in any way, shape, or form, and in all the sixth and a half years that he's known him, Sirius has never even _joked_ about breaking his rule. Certainly not in the way that he's just done.

Of course, it is rather amusing too, listening to Sirius proposition to Vivian just so she might toss herself off of the astronomy tower. But still. It's strange how angry Vivian makes him; how easily she's able to get under his skin without even trying.

Professor Anderson frowns at the pair of them and shakes his head. "I'd rather not do this after such a successful class, but I believe a detention is in order. You two are to report to my office directly after dinner tonight."

Vivian's mouth drops open. Sirius doesn't look much happier.

"But Professor – "

"Death threats are not to be taken lightly, Mr. Black, especially in the world we currently live in," Anderson swiftly cuts him off, and Sirius shoots Vivian a glare.

She clenches her jaw and says, "But I'm a prefect – "

"Unfortunately, your badge won't save you today, Miss Blair. I shall see you both tonight. Do _not_ be late, Mr. Black, or your evenings for the next week will be spent scrubbing the flagstones in the courtyard." With that, Professor Anderson strides back into his classroom and shuts the door firmly behind him.

Vivian turns angry eyes to Sirius. Sirius scoffs out an insult at her beneath his breath before storming off. James just stands there, still looking baffled, and grabs Peter's arm to follow.

As she watches them leave, Vivian thinks she could honestly scream.

* * *

Spending the evening with Sirius Black is not exactly on Vivian's to-do list tonight, but unfortunately, she doesn't have much of a choice. She's still bristling from their altercation hours later as she makes her way to Professor Anderson's classroom. Having never received a detention from him before, she's got no idea what sort of disciplinarian he is or what task he'll have them perform. She only hopes that whatever it is, they won't have to do it in close proximity to each other. To be honest, she's still itching to get her hands around his neck. Sirius Black could use a good strangling.

She's not at all surprised when she discovers that Sirius is late. Professor Anderson calmly greets her when she strides into the Defense classroom and tells her to take a seat while they wait for him, but it takes a good ten minutes before he arrives. Based on what Vivian knows about him (unfortunately, she's served several detentions with him in the past), she's actually a little surprised that he doesn't take more time to saunter into the room.

Saunter – that's a good word to describe the manner in which Sirius casually strolls through the door. His uniform is a bit mussed up, his tie loosened, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. When he sees Vivian, he sends her an expression that looks a bit evil. He clearly doesn't want to be here anymore than she does, which is saying a lot.

Anderson doesn't scold him for being ten minutes late. He, too, seems to realize that for Sirius Black, he's practically _early_. He's given Sirius enough detentions to know by now that he seems to have a problem being on time. A calculated move, Vivian assumes.

"Now that you're both here, you may head over to Mr. Filch's office. He'll be supervising your detention tonight," Professor Anderson tells them, and looks subtly amused when they both grimace. However, he makes sure to say in a firm voice, "I'm sure you'll both be very accommodating to whatever it is he decides to have you do."

The thought of spending detention with Mr. Filch makes both Vivian and Sirius blanch. Filch is notorious for his terrible detentions. If they end up mopping the bathrooms and cleaning toilets, she wouldn't be at all surprised. It is with great reluctance that they two of them shuffle out of the room to head over to Filch's office on the second floor. Neither of them are happy to be spending their detention together, let alone with Filch to supervise.

The walk there is surprisingly silent. Sirius doesn't seem to be in a chatty mood tonight. He walks a bit ahead of her and hardly gives her a second glance. Maybe he's just moody about wasting his night, or maybe he feels just as awkward as she does as they walk through the quiet hallways together. To be honest, Vivian has never actually walked with him like this without one of them starting an argument and having it escalate from there. To call the strange, tense energy between them as being awkward is definitely a good word for it. Things go back to normal once they start the detention, and Vivian isn't sure if she's relieved about that or not. She's also not sure what's worse: mopping bathroom floors, or mopping the entire Great Hall, least of all with Sirius Black in tow.

"I can't believe I have to do this with you," Sirius mutters as Filch barks at them to get to it and promptly leaves to go stalk the halls with his evil cat. The pair of them stand in the doorway of the hall with mops in their hands and a large bucket of soapy water between them. Filch had taken their wands before leaving to ensure that they actually do the work without magic, and happily informed them that he expected the entire hall to be spotless by the time he returns in two hours.

Vivian thinks that the man is _only_ happy when he's making students suffer.

With a scoff, she dunks her mop into the bucket so roughly that some of the water splashes onto Sirius's shoes, and he jumps out of the way with a yelp that makes her smirk.

"Careful, Black," she shrugs, as if she hadn't meant to do it in the first place. (An obvious lie. Her innocence only extends so far.)

Sirius narrows his eyes at her is quick to get retribution on her, but she's expecting it and is already out of reach by the time his mop hits the water with equal roughness.

"I'll bet this is making you furious, getting a detention. You're a prefect now so that means you're even more of an uptight bitch than usual," he mutters, turning to staring angrily moving his mop over the stone floor.

Vivian rolls her eyes. "I don't understand your problem with me."

"My _problem?_ Isn't it obvious?" he retorts quickly, and they both lift their heads to glare at each other. It's clear enough that it _isn't_ obvious to her, because even though Vivian's glare is fierce, her eyes contain the smallest trace of confusion. He snorts and turns to face her.

"You're literally everything I hate. A Slytherin, a prefect, a pureblood, a bitch – " he pauses for a moment, deciding if he's covered it all, and then adds, "Besides, the fact that we used to be betrothed makes me want to vomit every time I see you, which definitely doesn't help."

Vivian splutters a bit as she stands there, not expecting him to say anything about the engagement that had ended before she really got to know him, and laughs, "Really? Get over yourself, Black. We both dodged a bullet with that one. And you're everything I hate, too."

He raises an eyebrow at her and drawls, "Oh?"

She raises one back and returns, "Let's see…blood traitor, Gryffindor, womanizer. In that order."

"Womanizer? I am not a womanizer."

"You got caught in a broom closet _three times_ this week and we've only just started school."

"Oh, keeping track now, are we? You must be hoping to be the next one."

"The next one to _catch_ you, maybe, that way I can put in a request to have your Hogsmeade privileges revoked."

"Ha! Please. As if you could. You may be a prefect, but no one listens to anything you say, Godric."

"_Don't_ call me that, blood traitor."

"I am _this_ close to picking up this bucket and dumping it over your head."

"I'd like to see you fucking try, you – "

Before she can finish with her insult (a shame, it had been a good one), a noise rattles through the doorway and they both fall silent. It might have been a fairly comical sight, to anyone watching. The two of them, having somehow gotten closer during their argument without either of them noticing, now turn to stare at the doors of the Great Hall. They're both tense and wary as footsteps approach, and Sirius curses swiftly beneath his breath and shoves Vivian away from him.

He doesn't look at all repentant when she stumbles back, barely managing to catch herself before tripping over the mop that she had thrown to the ground at some point during their verbal sword fight. When she starts to berate him, he hisses, "Shut up, Blair – that's probably Filch, come to see if we're actually working or not."

This shuts her up pretty effectively (he'll have to remember that) and she's quick to reach down and grab her discarded mop. She strides several feet away and pretends to be cleaning busily when the doors push open and Filch peers suspiciously into the hall. He sees nothing out of order – no overturned buckets or lazy students. Both Sirius and Vivian are silently mopping the stone floor a ways away from each other, heads down.

"I heard voices," he mutters, and then in a louder voice, snaps, "Hurry up, and no talking! Good for nothing kids…"

The moment the doors shut again, Sirius lifts his head and glares fitfully at her. She doesn't hesitate to do the same, wrangling up all her hatred into one dark glower.

"By the way," he says after another minute of silence. "I just found out that you had no right to give me a detention before school even started." The corner of Vivian's mouth edges up into a full-on smirk. At the sight of it, Sirius exclaims, "You _knew_ that?"

She snorts. "Obviously. My authority doesn't start until we get to Hogwarts. You were just too stupid to catch on, so I figured I'd humor you."

He thinks he actually sees red when he hears her smug voice saying those smug words.

"I will make this year hell for you, Blair," he growls at her, sorely tempted to make good on his threat to overturn the bucket of soapy water over her head. She could use a good cleaning out.

Vivian just shrugs as if she doesn't believe him, and breezily responds, "Having to see your ugly face every day is hell enough, thanks."

He frowns, "Most girls think my face is angelic."

She just rolls her eyes. "Well I'm not like most girls, you arse."

And – well, naturally, he doesn't know it yet, but it won't be very long before he finds himself agreeing with her.

Vivian Blair is most certainly, without a doubt, absolutely _not_ like any other girl he's ever met.

* * *

When Sirius trudges back to Gryffindor tower after his dismal detention with one Vivian Blair, he's in a sour mood. As if spending two hours with a girl he loathes isn't enough to ruin a perfectly good evening, mopping the entire Great Hall had been a hell in and of itself. His hands are sore, he's desperately in need of a shower, and to top it all off, Blair had somehow managed to get dirty soap in his hair during one of the many arguments they'd had in the course of their two-hour detention. (And Merlin, there were quite a few.)

He's in the process of running his fingers through his precious locks in hopes to restoring them to their former glory when he steps into the common room, only to find that his three friends are waiting up for him. In truth, it isn't late enough for the majority of the students to be in bed yet, so the common room is still fairly bustling. Still, he takes heart in the sight of the other Marauders and, when he throws himself onto the couch next to Remus, he heaves a sigh of relief to be back in more pleasant company.

At least this lot doesn't make him want to drown himself. He had come close a few times that evening, but had ultimately figured that such an end would be unfitting for Sirius Black, extraordinaire. Drowning oneself in a bucket of dirty water would be rather pathetic.

"Rough detention?" James asks, glancing over at him as him and Peter play wizard's chess in front of the fireplace. Peter is losing badly, not that this surprises any of them. He's always been absolute rubbish at chess. And most other things, come to think of it.

Sirius grumbles, "Awful," and Remus hums, sending him a sidelong glance that makes him raise an eyebrow. His momentary confusion disappears when he recalls the conversation they'd had earlier, and with a glower, he shoves Remus a bit and bites, "It really was awful. Remember when I found out that the detention she gave me at the train station was technically illegitimate because the term hadn't even started yet?" He doesn't even wait for his friends to nod before he ploughs forward with a grumpy, "She _knew."_

Remus purses his mouth to keep his laughter at bay. It would probably only make Sirius that much grumpier to be laughed at. It is rather difficult to rein it in, though. He sounds so petulant about it that it is a true show of willpower on Remus's part.

James, on the other hand…

"It took you so long to figure that out," he crows, and then immediately jerks backward when Sirius grabs the pillow he's leaning against and throws it at him. It careens past him and knocks over his knight. When James turns to send him an undignified look, Peter takes the opportunity to pick the knight up and put it on a different square, hoping that his sleight of hand might help him win.

"Some friends you are, letting me waltz down to Blair's detention none the wiser," Sirius mutters, crossing his arms moodily and tipping his head back to glare at the ceiling.

He'd only found out about this little fact that morning, and it had been entirely accidental. McGonagall had wanted to speak with him after class about future careers. Apparently, she had taken what he'd said before a little too seriously, because she had expressed concern regarding him waiting to make a decision of that caliber until their last week of school. Anyway – after convincing her that he had only been joking (partly), he'd mentioned the detention in passing because he had wanted to know if the prefects really are allowed to choose what sort of detentions they can give students. He hadn't much fancied the thought of scrubbing down the owlery with a toothbrush like Vivian had threatened, and had figured that said threat probably wasn't made idly or without intention, so he'd figured that a little self-preservation was necessary just in case she goes through with it.

Regardless of his reasons, the conversation had ended up cycling back to the detention that Vivian had given him back at the train station, and McGonagall had been rather surprised to hear about it, and so he had asked her why that was and –

Well anyway, he hadn't been very happy by the time he'd left her classroom.

"So how'd you spend the detention?" Peter asks after a moment, glancing over at James to see if he's noticed that his knight is in a different place. He doesn't, because he's still glowering over at Sirius for the pillow attack and has apparently lost interest in the game, which is perfectly fine with Peter. Getting constantly beat at wizard's chess isn't very fun.

Sirius closes his eyes and responds, "Mopped the Great Hall."

Remus cringes, but Sirius isn't quite done yet.

"And that bitch got dirty sludge in my hair. And she called me a blood traitor again. And a womanizer."

He's not sure why he's bothering informing his friends about this. All he knows is that he's so annoyed at how the evening has gone that he can't stop the information from bubbling to the surface.

James snorts, "But you _are_ a womanizer, Padfoot." He looks rather victorious when Sirius realizes that he doesn't have another pillow to throw at him.

With a betrayed look blazing over his face, Sirius turns to Remus, who just shrugs. "You got caught in a broom closet three times this week and school has barely even started yet."

Mouth dropping open, Sirius exclaims, "Is _everyone_ keeping tabs on my broom closet escapades?"

Remus shoots him a confused look and explains, "All the prefects know about these sorts of things."

Sirius just grumpily leans back and sighs, apparently not caring all that much that his business is such common knowledge. "Anyway, I stand behind what I said before. Blair could really use a thorough broom closet session to loosen her up."

James and Remus exchange amused looks. Peter takes the initiative to move James's bishop over a square. Sirius rolls his eyes.

"I'm not saying that _I_ want to do it."

James hums beneath his breath, not entirely sure he believes him. A year ago, he would have. Hell, a week ago, he would have. But as ignorant as he can sometimes be concerning the female race (though _he_ would deny such accusations), even James has noticed that something seems different between Blair and Sirius this year. He's not sure what, but something has shifted. Whether it is merely that the two of them hate each other even more than ever before, or that something else is charging the atmosphere between them, all he can say is that it's only been a week into the term and already there's something different to their usual arguments.

Sirius frowns at the ceiling and muses, "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen her date anyone. Has she, Moony?"

Why Sirius thinks that he would know the answer to this, Remus doesn't know. He shrugs, considers it, and responds, "Not that I remember."

It's apparent that Sirius is waiting, and even expecting, this answer, because he immediately smirks and drawls, "Like I said: she desperately needs some fun. I should write up a list of Slytherins for her to hook up with as a prank."

James grimaces, "That's a little mean." When Sirius throws him a baffled look, he says, "I'm just saying, it is. Plus Lily would think that I had something to do with it and she'd give me the cold shoulder again."

They all know that there's nothing that gets to James more than Lily ignoring him. It is the single worst punishment that he could ever receive.

Remus seems to agree with James's assessment, so Sirius sighs, "Fine, I won't. But I definitely need to get her back for giving me a detention on the first day of classes. Charming her robes wasn't nearly enough…" With that, he trails off thoughtfully, staring into the fire as he muses over potential pranks that might put her in her place.

When he doesn't immediately come up with anything, James turns back to the chessboard. He gives it a strange glance, apparently noticing that something, at least, seems to be awry (Peter had managed to move a few of his own pieces around, too, in hopes that it might give him a leg up), but ultimately doesn't give it another thought as he reaches over to move his rook.

"Check," he says as his rook headbutts Peter's bishop right off the table and victoriously slides onto the square it had once occupied. Peter's mouth drops open.

As he leans forward to see if the game is salvageable, Marlene flounces over to the couch and sits down beside Sirius. She had been giving him the cold shoulder all day, too, but unlike James, Sirius hadn't even noticed. Apparently, all has been forgiven (Marlene isn't very good at holding grudges), because she immediately cuddles into his side as if she's never been angry with him at all and puts her book bag on the floor.

"Hey, Marl," he says faintly, barely even seeing her. He's far too swept up in thoughts of getting revenge on Vivian.

"Sirius, I heard about your detention," she says, reaching up to brush her fingers into his hair. The three other boys stop to watch as she yelps and jerks back, eyeing her hands with a grossed out look on her face. "What _is_ this?"

Sirius shrugs, "Dirty sludge from between the flagstones of the Great Hall."

His description makes her let out a disgusted sound, and the Marauders snicker.

Marlene immediately starts emptying her bag in search of something to wipe her hands on. Sirius watches her with vague interest as she piles some books on the couch between them.

"What are you reading, some stupid romance novel?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as he catches sight of the title that blazes over the cover. _'Sailor and Siren, Book 1'._ It even _sounds_ horrendous.

Marlene rolls her eyes at him and, still searching her bag, says in a muffled voice, "Actually, I _am_. It's really good, too. It's about a sailor who falls desperately in love with a siren off the coast of Greece, and – "

"Thanks, Marl, but I really don't want to know."

" – the siren ends up breaking his heart when she decides that she can't be with him, because they come from different worlds and she's got another man – "

"Merlin, please stop."

" – but then the sailor ends up writing her love poems to win her heart, and the siren is so swept up in them that she changes her mind and leaves her other love to be with him, defying all odds, but then – "

"…Love poems?"

" – before they can be reunited, a storm takes his ship by surprise and he ends up drowning, and the siren is so heartbroken that she goes back to the other man and they get married and end up having eight children."

"Love poems," Sirius says again with a nod, and smiles manically.

Marlene shoots him a confused look. The other Marauders, though…

"No way," Remus says firmly. "That's definitely crossing the line."

"It would be pretty fun though, Moony," James inputs.

"What are we talking about?" Peter wonders.

"It's wrong. It would be like playing with her heart, Prongs."

"Oh come off it, Moony. She doesn't even like him."

"They wouldn't be from me. They'd be from a secret admirer," Sirius drawls.

Remus shakes his head. "No way. It isn't right."

"Girls love that shit. Hey – that's actually a good idea…"

"Don't even think about it, Prongs. Lily is not that kind of girl."

"But Padfoot, neither is Blair."

"We don't know that. She might be."

Peter frowns, "What's this about love poems?"

"Merlin, I'm going to find the girls before I rip my hair out," Marlene proclaims, quite finished with the confusing conversation unraveling in front of her. She grabs her things and stomps off, but none of the boys really notice.

Sirius grins, looking incredibly proud of himself as he stretches his legs over the table in front of the couch and leans back. "I've always thought I was a good poet. This'll be a cinch." With a snicker, he adds, "Imagine her face when she thinks that someone is actually in love with her."

Remus shakes his head and warns, "You're going to regret this, Sirius."

But none of the others seem to agree. If anything, James is excited to help, and once Peter is filled in on the turn of events, he thinks it's a great idea. Remus's warning gets lost in the tide of their eager chatter as James plucks out a quill and a spare bit of parchment and they gather around it to dish out a love poem – the first of many.

Despite Sirius's claims that Remus isn't always right, though, this time, his warning will come back to bite him, and he will bitterly regret ever conceiving of the idea to play with Vivian Blair's heart so ruthlessly.

For now, though…

"How should we start it? Dear Blair?"

"See, this is why you should never write Lily a love poem, Prongs."

"Well then let's see you come up with something better!"

"I will," Sirius says, and snatches James's quill. With a flourish, he sets it down on the page as he spells out Vivian's name, slashing out the V with singular focus.

_Vivian, I do declare…_

"Oh, that sounds pretty good," Peter says.

"Shut up, I'm trying to think."

And then…

"Oh and by the way Wormtail, checkmate."

On the couch, Remus puts his head in his hands and sighs.


	9. Literarum amor

**Chapter Nine | Literarum amor**

**[Love letters]**

Theodore Avery doesn't seem like he wants to be on the Quidditch pitch, which is really not a good sign. After all, it's been three years since Slytherin last won the Quidditch Cup, and with him stepping up this year as Captain, their last chance to come out on top doesn't seem very likely. The first week of term is at its end, and the subtle nuances of change within her house only seems to grow in strength as Vivian approaches the stands where Avery is waiting. Tryouts are different this year too, but not only because Avery's been made Captain.

"Why are there so many girls here?" she asks Morrigan, who has been a chaser on the team since third year. Her dormmate looks rather good in her white and emerald Quidditch gear, and she pauses as she tugs her hair up into a high ponytail to send an incredulous glance at Vivian, as if she thinks her question is extremely inane.

"Why'd you think?" she shoots back, and raises her eyebrows.

Vivian copies the gesture, then looks over at the group of girls that are currently hanging around Avery and his group of friends. They're all here – Mulciber, Rosier, even Snape, though he isn't paying the girls any mind whatsoever as he sits beside his friends with his nose stuck in a book. It's not strange to see girls hanging around them like this, but seeing as all the girls are carrying broomsticks and are obviously intent on trying out, Vivian's confusion only skyrockets.

Morrigan rolls her eyes. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you're really a member of the renown Blair family. They're _obviously_ trying to catch someone's eye."

It becomes clear to Vivian only a moment later that by 'someone', Morrigan means 'anyone'. She scoffs quietly to herself and sits down next to Morrigan as she realizes what her friend is getting at. Purebloods of higher standing tend to get betrothed early on in their lives, but the rest of Slytherin house, whether pureblood or not, always go into a tizzy during their last year in an effort to secure their own engagement. These girls aren't here for Quidditch; they're here for marriage. She grimaces in disgust and Morrigan laughs.

"So, are you?" Morrigan asks vaguely, and Vivian turns to look at her.

"Am I what?"

"Are you _betrothed_ to someone? Merlin, Blair."

Feeling a bit uncomfortable at the question, Vivian shifts a bit and shrugs. If she says no, then Morrigan will wonder why her parents hadn't gone the traditional route when she was a kid and betrothed her to another family's son way back when, and then Vivian will of course have to admit that her parents _had_ done that, only that the son in question hadn't lived up to their expectations and they broke off the agreement. Morrigan will want to know who this person is and she'd pester her until she receives her answer. Vivian would rather die than admit that she was once betrothed to none other than Sirius Black.

On the other hand, if she says yes, then she'll have to make up a lie about who she's betrothed to, and lying about something of this magnitude will doubtlessly backfire on her at some point. So instead, she just tries to change the subject. This wouldn't have worked if she was dealing with anyone other than Morrigan, who basically lives and breathes Quidditch. Well, when she isn't obsessing over her latest fling, that is.

"We're never going to win the Cup if Avery lets any of those girls onto the team," Vivian mutters, crossing her arms and looking annoyed at the prospect. As she glances over to her new Captain, she sees that he is far more interested in flirting than he is with getting on with tryouts, even though all of the potential players are pretty much gathered by now.

Morrigan agrees with this, at least, when she scoffs, "His mind isn't on Quidditch at all."

Vivian dryly adds, "He's far more interested in getting into Jenson's robes."

"Mmm…even Black wouldn't be this callous when it comes to Quidditch."

Eyebrows shooting up, Vivian turns to stare at her friend with a weird look on her face, and Morrigan snickers.

"Oh come off it, Blair. I'm only saying it because it's true. Black's a total manwhore, but he _always_ puts Quidditch before his conquests."

Vivian grumbles quietly to herself, but has to admit that Morrigan is right. She doesn't have to know or like Sirius that much to concede this point. Anyone who's seen him at a Quidditch game, whether on the pitch or in the stands, would immediately agree. Besides pranking unsuspecting Slytherins, the only other thing he takes seriously is beating said Slytherins at Quidditch.

They wait another ten minutes before Avery finally decides to turn his attention onto the tryouts and sends the chasers up to assess them. Morrigan is pleased to be able to get this over with and shoots up into the air with a group of about seven other Slytherins. Vivian recognizes a few from her year, but most of them are younger. As they begin to warm up, first going over their flying skills, Vivian leans back and peers around to catch sight of her competition.

She's been the team Seeker since forth year, and so far, she hasn't gotten replaced. This little fact is something that she's rather proud of, and as she looks around at the younger students who are gathered near her, she figures that this year will be no different. The position of Seeker is often a prized one, but most people don't realize how challenging it really is. Besides having to maintain an excellent and consistent control of your broom while zigzagging around the other players, you need keen eyesight and quick reflexes. A healthy dose of intuition is also useful. The snitch can be rather difficult to predict.

Avery pulls himself away from the girls for just long enough to decide that Morrigan will be back on the team this year. Unsurprisingly, Mulciber also gets his spot back. Avery names one other player to fill in the other position of Chaser and then calls out to the Keepers to take their places. Vivian is in the process of jealously watching as Morrigan heads back into the locker rooms to change when she catches sight of someone she hadn't seen before that moment, and her eyebrows shoot up.

Regulus Black is striding onto the pitch with what looks like a Nimbus 1000 and is decked out in Keeper garb, which consists of knee and elbow pads and a padded chest plate. He is one of three others who will be trying out for Keeper this year. Vivian is, admittedly, surprised by this. She hadn't known that Regulus liked Quidditch, let alone that he is talented enough to try out for the team.

Avery sends them up and tests them individually, but it's apparent to everyone that Regulus is the star player. He manages to block every single goal without fail and has no problem staying on his broomstick even during some of the more challenging saves. After about fifteen minutes, Avery calls them back to the stands. As they make their way back to the ground, he nudges Mulciber and says, "Black's pretty good."

Mulciber grunts, "And from good stock, unlike Litchfield."

The sneering chuckle that leaves Avery's mouth when he responds, "Gotta keep the team pure this year," makes Vivian roll her eyes.

She doesn't say anything though, when Avery announces that Regulus has made the team. No one argues with the decision, and Avery quickly turns back to the girls to do a little more flirting while Regulus walks past her.

"Congratulations," she tells him, catching his eye. His black hair is a bit windswept as it dashes over his forehead in waves, and his eyes remind her of a dove grey morning, pallid and washed over with the barest hint of clouds.

He nods his thanks to her, but only lingers long enough to confidently say over his shoulder, "Looks like we'll both be on the team this year, Blair."

The corner of her mouth pushes up just so. He's obviously convinced that she'll get her spot back without any problem, which is practically a compliment in and of itself from Regulus Black. It only serves to make her that much more determined to ensure that Avery doesn't find her lacking.

"Beaters – come on, let's get this over with," Avery shouts, and a few people step out on the pitch with their bats swinging. To Vivian's surprise, some of the giggling girls also break away from the group to join, and she leans back with a wide smirk to watch what she's sure will be an amusing spectacle.

Beaters are chosen primarily for their build. The stronger, the better. A larger, more muscled beater tends to be able to put more strength behind their swings, thereby ensuring that the bludgers hit their marks as forcefully as possible. Of course, the other thing that beaters absolutely must possess is a good aim, otherwise the force of their swings is rather useless.

Avery himself is one of the team's beaters, so the position will only go to one other player. Since he's apparently more interested in choosing his players based on the purity of their blood over their actual skill, Vivian figures that out of the group of people currently vying for the position, there is really only two or three that could possibly stand a chance.

The girls who had broken away from their gaggling counterparts seem like they have no idea what they're doing except for one. Vivian vaguely recalls that she is in her year, though she doesn't think she's ever spoken to her. Her large frame often makes her the target of gossip and laughter, and if her bulky, heavy boned figure and mousy features aren't enough to give her the wrong sort of attention, her blood status most assuredly is.

Blood traitor, of a sort. Her father had married a muggleborn. Her mother had died some years ago from some kind of illness. The only reason Vivian recalls this is because the girl had become the target of intense bullying afterwards, when their classmates had decided that the mudblood had gotten what she deserved, trying to marry into a pureblood family.

Being a half-blood Slytherin with a bad family history is not exactly a positive thing these days. It only serves to set the girl apart that much more, presenting her as a sort of social stigma that most of her fellow Slytherins avoid. Even now, she sees Avery nudging Mulciber with a vivid smirk etched over his face. His group of friends turn to peer at the girl with dark expressions, and Rosier mutters something beneath his breath that sound distinctly like 'filthy bitch'.

Frowning now, Vivian doesn't feel quite as eager to watch the girls make fools out of themselves. She watches as they mount their brooms and take off into the air, finding her gaze trained onto the girl curiously. Despite being on the larger side, she's actually quite lithe in the air, and beats most of the others in the precursor flying tests. She comes in second place as the group finishes off a lap of the pitch, and manages to tie with the beater that had made the team last year.

The initial tests rule out most of the giggling girls, who aren't giggling quite so much now. They don't appear to be very upset at not making the team. As Avery sends them off the pitch, he sends them flirty winks and says something about broom closets and unused classrooms, which livens them up again – all five of them, to be exact. Vivian absolutely doesn't want to know if it's possible to fit five girls in a broom closet at once, and turns her mind elsewhere.

She's actually a little surprised when Avery doesn't immediately rule out the larger girl, seeing as she's apparently a lesser wizard than his friends would prefer for their 'pure team' this year. He must know that she's got potential, especially when the bludgers are released and they see just how strong she actually is.

The first bludger that comes her way, she hits so hard that it leaves a dent in the earth of the pitch when it comes hurtling to the ground. Vivian swears she sees smoke wafting from the bludgeoned grass after they retrieve it. Her aim is impeccable, too. When several targets are set up to act as other players, the girl manages to break off an entire arm and decapitate another with a brutally shattering force. The others who are trying out for the position do hit the target, but not nearly with the same power.

She's spectacular. Even Avery apparently thinks so, because he hesitates when it comes time to name the new player.

"She's got filthy blood," Mulciber mutters to him as the beaters finish up their tests and begin to clean up the pitch.

Avery pauses, eyeing the large girl with a furrowed brow. It's enough to make Vivian roll her eyes and say in an exasperated tone, "Oh, just pick her already. She's the best option if we want to win the Cup this year."

Mulciber and the others turn to stare at her, as if they're only now noticing that she's there. Vivian sighs at them, and Avery shrugs.

"Blair. You've been so quiet I almost forgot you were still here," Mulciber smirks, edging into her personal space with flashing eyes. He lifts an arm to throw around her shoulders and says in a lower voice, "You've gotten prettier over the summer." The glance he casts at her chest makes her let out a disgusted noise.

Shoving him off, Vivian snarks, "Don't treat me like one of your groupies."

He laughs, not put off in the slightest.

Avery rolls his eyes at Mulciber and declares, "Blair, get ready. Seekers are next." Then in a louder voice, he calls, "Okay, McCallum, you're on the team. Clear out, the rest of you. We've got one more group."

The girl looks shocked that she actually made it, and lifts her head to stare at Avery in surprise. He frowns at her and scornfully adds, "Hurry up and get off the pitch so the Seekers can try out."

Vivian gives Mulciber one more shove when he tries to loop his arm around her again, and grabs her broom as the others carry off the broken targets that were destroyed by their new star beater. The moment Avery gives her the go-ahead, she shoots off into the air on her Silver Arrow and goes through the preliminary tests with flying colors. There are only two others who are trying out for Seeker this year, and she easily outflies them.

Avery puts them through some complicated flying techniques, having them shoot straight towards the ground and pull up at the last moment, do sharp turns, and even go through a few feints that are technically geared towards the chasers. It's all about seeing how good they are at flying and staying on their brooms. After he spends some time on that, he charms a little rubber ball to act as their practice snitch for today, and with his wand, he flies it around the pitch and has them chase after it. There are a few close calls when the other two players nearly catch it before her, but luckily, Vivian realizes that the core of the real test is to focus more on Avery himself than on the charmed ball.

She ends up studying his movements as she flies over the pitch, getting used to the way he maneuvers his wand – and by extension, the 'snitch' – around the air. After a while, predicting his next move is easy, and catching the ball is even easier.

When Avery says, "Okay Blair, you're on the team again. Let's get out of here!" she is thoroughly unsurprised.

Instead of immediately touching back down, Vivian flies around the pitch for a while as the others leave. Her Silver Arrow gleams metallic in the light of the fading sun, and since it's been a few weeks since last she'd had the time to fly, she sweeps around the pitch and enjoys the feel of the wind through her hair to her heart's content. Only when the last of her fellow Slytherins disappear into the castle in the distance does she make her way back to the locker rooms to change into her robes, stuffing her Quidditch uniform into her bag and slowly meandering back to the stands with her broomstick in hand.

The late summer evening is gorgeous, and the sun is still lingering on the horizon. It will take some time for it to completely disappear, so Vivian ends up sitting down in the stands to enjoy the moment. It isn't often that she can immerse herself in such quiet peace.

With a sigh, she reaches into her bag to pull out her book, and turns it to where she had left off the other day. Anne has just reunited with Wentworth at Kellynch Hall, where his sister and brother-in-law had just moved into, and the desperate longing written out in the pages before her has Vivian sighing again as she immerses herself in the colorful world that this muggle authoress had managed to cultivate so easily.

She wonders what it feels like, to be in love with someone for eight long years. To have your heart broken by the weak will of another, and yet still continue to love even though you know you should just give up and move on. What sort of passion instills such vigor into the soul? Such loyal devotion plays out as Wentworth feels his heart shake upon the sight of Anne; and Anne, timid beneath his heavy gaze, is filled with pitying guilt at the thought of the rejections and separations of their past.

It is an avid thing to read, and she gets completely swept up in it as she lounges back against the bench and holds the book up to her face. But then…

"'_A Dictionary of Hexes'?_ Really?" a dry voice wonders, and she jerks up with a start, only to find herself staring right into a pair of stormy grey eyes.

For a split second, Vivian is filled with confusion. And then that second passes, and she remembers that to anyone who happens to glance at the outer cover of her book, this is indeed the title that she had charmed onto it. No one in Slytherin would question her reading choice. Brushing up on her hexes is only natural to her fellow housemates, the majority of whom are quite interested in the darker aspects of magic. To a Gryffindor, though…

Vivian smirks. "Don't sound so surprised, Black," she drawls sarcastically, and flips a page.

Anne is in the middle of an internal dialogue involving how desperately she still loves Wentworth and how handsome he still is after the eight years since she had broken his heart and rejected his marriage proposal in one single night. For all Sirius knows, though, the only thing of interest within these pages is how to best shoot a dark curse at someone with the intent to do extreme damage. She wonders what he'd say if he knew that she is actually reading a love story, and her smirk widens.

With a scoff, Sirius gives her a wary glance and says, "You're a real piece of work, Blair. And that isn't a compliment."

Unfortunately for him, she doesn't care if it's a compliment or not, and just shrugs.

"What are you doing here, anyway? You're completely ruining the atmosphere," she says, glancing back down at her book as if she doesn't think he's worth another glance.

Sirius rolls his eyes at her, though she doesn't even notice, and tersely informs her, "Gryffindor tryouts. We booked the field after dinner. Now go away – we don't need any snakes slithering around while we work."

She sneers at him and he sneers right back. In her humble opinion, his expression isn't nearly as malevolent as hers. Only a Slytherin can manage to look both prideful and disgusted at the same time when they twist their expressions into a dour glare.

"Afraid I might steal your secrets and report back to Avery? I doubt you'll have enough true talent this year to beat Slytherin," she snarks.

Sirius looks distinctly annoyed upon hearing this and curls his mouth into a heavy scowl. He leans in over the bar that separates the bottom row of the stands from the grassy pitch, and smirks, "If I recall, we beat you pretty good last year."

Mention of Slytherin's dreadful last game of the season makes Vivian scowl, too. Gryffindor had been utterly ruthless against them. She wouldn't admit it for the world, but they do have some really incredible players. Not even the dirty, underhanded tactics that some of her teammates had used worked. They had been crushed, and Gryffindor had rubbed it in their faces until the term ended.

Her annoyed look makes Sirius smirk wider, knowing that he's getting to her. It's extremely fun, getting under Vivian Blair's skin. Making her angry happens to be a talent of his, honed from years of testing which insults to slur at her that will give him the best reaction.

"Should I be afraid that you're gonna use some of those hexes on us again?" Sirius asks, sounding mockingly frightened as he eyes her book. He puts a hand over his heart and leans away as if he's scared that she might whip out her wand to curse him right then and there. She can tell it's just an act, though. His eyes flash at her from beneath the windswept curtain of his dark hair, and they tell her everything she needs to know.

He is purposefully egging her on, because for some reason, he just can't help himself. She's stopped trying to figure out why a long time ago. House rivalry and general hatred is a good enough reason for her.

Raising an eyebrow, Vivian repeats, _"Again?_ I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sirius scoffs at this. "Oh please. Slytherin fights dirty. That's a known fact. There's no _true talent_ on your team for you to win otherwise," he says, turning her words from before against her.

She grits her teeth. While she isn't obsessed with Quidditch, Vivian does take it rather seriously. Flying is one of the few things she honestly enjoys doing and having him question Slytherin's tactics (whether or not they're true) annoys her greatly.

"We've got a great new beater this year," she informs him, flushing with anger. "Decapitated one of the targets with a single shot."

If she thinks this will get the better of him, she's wrong.

Sirius laughs. "James spent the _entire summer_ coming up with new moves."

"Avery's got us booked for practice three times next week."

"James booked us for four."

"Our chasers have some pretty amazing feints they'll be learning."

"I'll bet they won't compare to what _I've_ come up with."

"_You?_ Please. Your brain is too small to strategize a workable feint."

"I guess you'll be proven wrong when we crush you during our first match."

"Ha, the only way you'll crush us is if Potter accidentally finds the snitch before _I _do."

"Well that won't be hard, seeing as you fly like a little girl."

"I _am_ a girl. And I'll have you know that there are more female seekers on professional teams than there are male."

"That's only because they hand out favors to scouts."

"You _sick bastard – "_

"Everything alright over here?" comes the voice of one thoroughly amused James Potter, who is standing behind Sirius as he watches the verbal lashing. He takes in the sight of Sirius and Vivian leaning into each other and raises an eyebrow. When they notice their close proximity, they both jerk away like they've been burned, and James's amusement only increases from there.

If he doesn't know any better, he'd say that Sirius actually _likes_ her. Of course, he _does_ know better, especially after they had all spent the night locked up in their dorm room, writing a thoroughly ardent love poem and placing bets on how quickly it will convince Blair that there's someone in the school who actually thinks that her relative attractiveness makes up for her foul personality.

With a haughty sniff, Sirius pushes off from the railing and declares, "Everything's fine. I was just telling Godric here that Slytherin's track record of spectacularly losing the Quidditch Cup will be a continued theme for this year."

James opens his mouth to reply, but is quickly cut off by an irate Vivian, who's eyes are flashing fiercely as she glares at Sirius. Her voice, too, is fierce when she responds with a clipped, "You're going to eat those words, Black."

Sirius merely shrugs, eyeing her with a sort of dark smugness. "Should we make a bet, then? Whoever wins gets one wish that the other person has to fulfill."

Vivian immediately laughs and jeers, "One wish? Why would I agree to that? You'd probably wish me to jump into the Black Lake."

The suggestion makes him snicker a bit before holding up his hands and conceding, "Alright fine. No death wishes allowed."

"Or anything to do with broom closets," she hastily adds.

With a snort, he drawls, "Like I would _ever_ invite you into a broom closet."

"Oh come off it, Black, you've got _no_ standards. Last year you dated _Penny Dutchet."_

"I did not _date_ Penny Dutchet, I merely enjoyed her company for a few days. And what's wrong with her?"

"What's _wrong_ with her? She's the most arrogant, stuck-up prick I've ever met! Besides you, that is."

"Well unlike you, she's hot."

"Is that supposed to hurt my feelings or something? I'm _glad_ you don't find me attractive."

"I'm not the only one. I'm pretty sure half the school agrees with me."

"I know this is difficult for you to grasp, Black, but you aren't the center of the universe and not everyone likes you."

"That's questionable. I've already gotten about a dozen propositions since the start of term, and at least half of them were from Slytherin girls."

"And I'm sure you took great pleasure in rejecting them, seeing as you're such an arse."

"I did, actually. See, you say I don't have standards, but this conversation just proves that I do."

"Don't make me laugh."

"I would hate to be the one who makes _that_ cataclysmic event happen."

"You know what?" she seethes, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. She glares at Sirius with a fury that might surprise him, if he isn't so accustomed to seeing it flash through her eyes. With a sneer, Vivian says, "I accept your deal. You're going to regret it."

He sneers too and bites, "Regret the chance of making you the laughing stock of Hogwarts? Doubt it."

She opens her mouth to throw a retort at him, but all that comes out is a disgusted noise, and she pushes past him as she exits the stands. During their argument, more members of the Gryffindor house have begun to arrive for tryouts, and she's receiving quite a few odd glances as they no doubt wonder why a Slytherin is on the pitch – and why she's having yet another verbal fight with Sirius Black.

Sirius crosses his arms and watches her stomp off, his mouth curling up in amusement as his mind spins with potential deeds that he might have her do once Gryffindor ultimately wins the Quidditch Cup. In his opinion, she's basically just signed her death warrant (all threats of actual death wishes aside), because there is no possible way that Slytherin will come out on top this year. Besides the fact that they've been on a losing streak for the last four years, Theodore Avery is a shit beater and will probably make an even worse captain. Vivian herself might make for a half decent Seeker, but she doesn't stand a chance against James.

"That was…bracing," his friend mutters, also watching Vivian march off with her broomstick firmly in hand.

Sirius just smirks widely and claps him on the shoulder. "Let's get these tryouts underway. We're gonna _crush_ Slytherin this year."

With that, he heads to the locker rooms to change into his gear, leaving James reeling with confusion over what had just happened.

* * *

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Rosalind asks when Vivian storms into their dorm, seething with anger. She is quite a sight to behold when angry, but it fails to inspire fear into the hearts of her dormmates, who glance over at her in boredom before returning to what they were doing prior to her noisy arrival.

Rosalind flips a page in the magazine she's reading, peering down at an article that's probably centered around the latest cut in robes of the newest hair potion on the market. Narcissa has her transfiguration book out and is reading through it. Morrigan is noticeably absent, not that this is surprising. She's either in the Great Hall with her other friends, finishing up dinner, or in some empty classroom desecrating whatever surface she can find with whatever member of the male population that has caught her eye. Morrigan is a bit of a slut, and Vivian often reminds her of it.

"Black," Vivian growls, and throws her broomstick into her trunk with more ire than is probably safe, seeing as how she had only just bought it over the summer and it was very expensive.

Across the room, Rosalind snickers. She lifts her eyes to peer at Vivian, who is ripping off the outer layer of her uniform with angry zeal, and drawls, "Why am I not surprised?"

Vivian pauses with one arm still stuck in her emerald hemmed robes to indignantly demand, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Her friend rolls her eyes at her and sighs, "Don't play dumb, Blair. You _like_ him."

Extremely conscious of the fact that Narcissa has lifted her head to unabashedly stare at her, Vivian tears her robe off with an aggravated flourish and throws it onto her bed.

"Clearly, those magazines you always read is making your brain even smaller than it usually is," Vivian snipes back.

Instead of offending her (Slytherins have a high tolerance for insults), her words only make Rosalind snort, "You can deny it all you like, but I _know_ these things."

Her vague response makes Vivian gape at her for all of two seconds before she rolls her eyes and grumbles, "What are you, a wannbe Seer?"

Rosalind giggles. While her favorite class does happen to be Divination (because, she claims, it's so easy to bullshit her way through), her reply to Vivian's sarcasm is simply, "No. But I _can_ see how sexually frustrated he makes you."

Narcissa makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat and rolls her eyes. As for Vivian, she just groans in exasperation and responds, "Merlin, Rosalind. I'd sooner hand him over to a coven of dragons."

Her denial only makes Rosalind hum dryly. Under her breath, she mutters, "Kinky," and promptly gets a pillow in the face when Vivian hears her.

"I don't even want to know how your mind works," she growls as Rosalind laughingly throws her pillow back, totally nonchalant about how angry Vivian is.

"What did my cousin do this time?" Narcissa drawls after a moment, and idly flips a page of her textbook.

Vivian's voice is gruff when she responds, "He wrangled me into making a bet with him."

"Oh? What sort of bet?" Rosalind wonders.

Vivian is a bit reluctant to tell them about the deal, mainly because in hindsight, she can't believe that she had agreed to it at all. If Gryffindor does end up winning, then she can only imagine what evil deed Sirius will ask of her. He'd mentioned making her the laughing stock of the whole school, and she absolutely wouldn't put it past him to carry that out.

So, instead of getting into the details of a bet that she'd rather pretend she hadn't made, she just mutters beneath her breath and pretends that she's overly invested in going through her schoolbag, hoping that it will prevent her from having to respond.

Narcissa, having apparently decided that this conversation isn't worth her time, turns back to her homework. Her eyes lift back up, though, when Rosalind shrugs and glances back at Vivian to tell her, "Oh, by the way, you received something while you were at Quidditch tryouts."

Vivian, who is now in the process of searching for her Charms textbook, wonders in a still-annoyed tone, "What is it?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rosalind smirk widely and lift up a bit of parchment that she had been using as a bookmark of sorts. When she tosses it onto the bottom of her bed, Vivian snatches it up, sees the broken wax seal, and glowers at her.

"You opened it," she intones.

Rosalind's smirk only widens further. "Yup."

Vivian rolls her eyes. She looks down at the broken seal, but it's just a flattened circle of red wax that bears no insignia of any kind. It couldn't possibly be from her parents then, because if it was, the Blair family crest would be pressed into the wax. Likewise, anyone else would have used some sort of seal to close the letter, so Vivian is a bit baffled at the fact that there is none to speak of.

Everything makes sense – sort of – when she opens it.

'_Vivian, I do declare_

_that even Venus can't compare_

_To your beauty that does capture me_

_Like a thousand shooting stars._

_For even in the moon's embrace,_

_Your countenance is not erased –_

_Before you, even Heaven dims;_

_You're more beauteous by far.'_

Her mouth drops open. On her bed, Rosalind bursts into giggles, so stricken by her amusement that she brings her magazine up to muffle her laughter. Needless to say, it doesn't work, but Vivian doesn't even hear her. Her eyes skim over the words several times before her expression sunders into disgust and she sneers, "What the fuck is this?"

Narcissa looks like she wants to know, too, and Rosalind is perfectly content with informing her.

"It's a _love_ poem," she sings in a drawn-out tone, her voice rife with something that could be heard as sarcasm, if her eyes aren't sparkling with such excitement. "Someone _loves_ you, Blair."

This time, there's a touch of teasing in her words. It's enough to make Vivian snap out of the baffled stupor that the letter has left her in. Her face contorts into revulsion.

"It's a _prank,"_ she returns with a glare, eyeing Rosalind as if daring her to contradict her. "Who writes love poems anymore? Someone is obviously messing with me."

Her denial doesn't seem to have any impact whatsoever on Rosalind, though, whose giggling countenance quickly transforms into a deep sigh. "It's so romantic."

Vivian scowls and throws the letter onto her bed as if it's cursed. Narcissa is quick to reach out and snatch it, devouring the poem. Vivian doesn't try to stop her even though she'd like to tell everyone to mind their own damn business.

"It's pathetic," she counters, and snatches up her bookbag.

"I wish someone would write _me_ a love poem," Rosalind sighs again, as if she hadn't heard her.

Vivian scoffs, "Too bad there isn't a signature, or I'd tell them to turn their attention to you."

Narcissa shrugs and says, "There _is_ a signature."

At this, Vivian pauses and glances over at her with a raised eyebrow. Narcissa raises her eyebrow as well, somehow managing to look both mischievous and bored at the same time. Vivian doesn't know how she does it.

"What? Really?" she asks, and snatches the letter back.

Her eyes dart down to a small symbol that she hadn't noticed before, and a thoroughly unimpressed look catches through her eyes. She wouldn't call this a 'signature'. It's more of a vague, careless little addition that only serves to make her even more confused. Below the poem's ridiculous last line, a small dog's paw has been drawn with ink, it's splotches just barely separated.

"Okay, Rosalind – who sent this?" Vivian demands as her face contorts into a glower once more. Is this some kind of childish joke? Who signs a love poem with a _paw?_

But Rosalind doesn't have the answer to this query, and Vivian can tell that she isn't lying when she mournfully sighs, "I wish I knew. It was sitting on your bed when I walked in an hour or so ago."

If anything, this news only disturbs her even more. Someone had broken into her dorm and knew the interior well enough to know which bed belongs to her? With a contorted expression, Vivian mutters, "I don't have an admirer; I have a stalker."

Unsurprisingly, Rosalind does not agree. She shrugs and says, "I asked around. None of the other girls saw anyone come in here all day. My guess is that your secret admirer is on good terms with the house elves."

This doesn't really help. Vivian still feels wary even as she stuffs the poem into her bag and gruffly mutters, "Whatever. I have homework to do."

She beelines to the door in her effort to escape this conversation and scoffs to herself at the thought of someone being in love with her enough to actually write her a poem. She's half struck with utter disgust at having a mushy, sentimental person admire her, and half taken by the fact that whoever this person is, he seems to think she's prettier than heaven itself – no matter that she has no idea how such a thing is even possible.

Shaking away the thought of the poem and the strange symbol from her head is harder than she expects, though. Even as she sets herself up in one of the dark leather armchairs in the common room and finally locates her wayward Charms textbook, she can't concentrate very well. She ends up having to erase the entire first paragraph of the essay she's writing on disillusionment charms, because she's too busy wondering who could be responsible for the love poem.

And – if she's just the smallest bit pleased to have received such ardent prose, well, Vivian does not admit it to herself, and she merely throws herself into her schoolwork with renewed vigor.


	10. Multa paucis

**Chapter Ten | Multa paucis**

**[Much in few words]**

The act of forgetting about her secret admirer is not an easy task. It would be, if it isn't for Rosalind. She hadn't wasted even a second when informing Morrigan about the latest course of events, and they had spent the entire night teaming up and pestering Vivian about the contents of the letter. Rosalind had spewed a constant stream of romantic shit, envisioning Vivian's future marriage to this unknown suitor and going as far as to paint a very clear image of what it would all look like (the face of said suitor being the only thing left untouched). As for Morrigan, well…

"You'll find yourself exploring the inside of a broom closet before the term is out, Blair," she had smirked, her eyes shining gleefully even when Vivian had tried smothering her with her pillow.

Narcissa had been the only one of her friends not to take an active part in her suffering, but Vivian isn't entirely fooled by her blasé approach. Narcissa has an incredible poker face, but her eyes had all but gleamed when Rosalind had laughingly teased Vivian about how flustered the letter has made her. She's clearly enjoying this more than she's letting on.

As for being flustered, well – Vivian is _not_ flustered. At all. She merely thinks that writing someone a love poem is old fashioned and weird. The thought of having a secret admirer is something to scoff at. She hasn't given anyone permission to like her. They have no damn right.

The week passes in much the same manner. Vivian has taken to avoiding her roommates when possible, and isn't above shoving them when she deems it necessary. A few underhanded hexes do make her feel better, especially when they successfully glue Rosalind's mouth shut for a little while and stops her from speaking. She's not above _that,_ either. (In fact, she's quite good at hexes.)

At least she can throw herself into Quidditch again. Now that the tryouts are over, Avery seems to have taken to his role in a more serious manner, and has scheduled the team to practice three evenings a week. This year, Slytherin and Hufflepuff will be starting off the Quidditch season with the first match of the term, and Avery is eager to crush Hufflepuff as thoroughly as possible. This means, of course, that Vivian's evenings are always full with either homework or practices, and it gives her a good excuse to try forgetting about the love poem entirely.

Alas, though, her excuses don't always do the trick.

"I heard you've got a secret admirer, Godric," a voice drawls as she's walking out of the Great Hall after dinner. Vivian, naturally, stiffens upon hearing the all too familiar voice, and rearranges her expression into a sneer.

Sirius has taken to calling her Godric almost exclusively, and it makes her so annoyed that she actually sees red whenever she hears it, which is a poetic injustice of the highest measure. What's worse, every time someone says 'Good Godric', she immediately thinks they're talking about her even though they aren't, which annoys her even more. Black has totally messed with her mind since giving her that despicable nickname.

Sirius barks out a laugh when he sees her turn on her heel to face him, her expression glowing with the perfect mixture of 'I'm-a-million-times-better-than-you' and 'you-make-me-want-to-vomit'. It's actually rather fascinating how many things he can read in her eyes.

"Woah, calm down, love," he says, raising his hands, and gives her a sneering smirk.

Vivian raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him and demands, "Who told you I have a secret admirer?"

She asks the question in such a composed manner that Sirius actually pauses thoughtfully before responding. "Are you gonna get out your evil dictionary and hex the person I heard it from?" he slowly asks, eyeing her as if he's just waiting for that book of hers to make a sudden reappearance.

She rolls her eyes and humors him. "Most likely."

Sirius nods as if he has expected this, and then grins, "Glad to hear it. I love seeing Slytherins get hexed."

Vivian narrows her eyes at this slip of information. If a Slytherin had informed him of her secret admirer, then it could only be one person. Rosalind has the biggest mouth in the school and she hasn't stopped pestering Vivian about this since it had occurred several days ago. She huffs at the thought and turns to walk away from him, deciding several things in the course of a moment.

One: she needs to hunt down Rosalind and cast a more permanent silencing charm on her. Two: she needs to burn that damned love poem before it somehow ends up getting passed around the school. Three: she needs to get the hell away from Sirius fucking Black.

Ah, if only it's that easy.

"So what'd you think of it, then?" he asks, falling into step beside her with only a few quick strides. If he thinks that it's strange to be walking next to her like this, he doesn't show it. In fact, he seems singularly interested in hearing about her reaction to having a secret admirer. So much so that Vivian immediately narrows her eyes at him and wheels around to face him, studying his face with a wariness that makes him raise an eyebrow.

It couldn't have been him. Right?

Right. Sirius Black hates her. He loves his pranks, but he wouldn't go that far. He would never willingly call her beautiful, and he definitely doesn't have the literary propensity of likening said beauty to the heavens. Honestly, she's not even sure he _knows_ _how_ to read.

"Get away from me," she tells him, and starts walking again.

So does he. As if he hadn't heard her at all, Sirius just shrugs and follows her.

"Cause it's a little funny, you know? You having an admirer. Who do you think it is?"

She doesn't respond, but this doesn't deter him at all.

"Your roommate said it was the most romantic thing she's ever read."

…Is it just her, or does he sound strangely smug about that for some reason?

"But I really can't imagine how anyone could find you attractive, Blair. Are you sure _you_ didn't write that poem, just to make people think you're better than you actually are?"

This particular question, more than the other inane comments he's made thus far, is what really grates on her already fraying nerves. She spins around to face him, eyes narrowing into slits, and growls, "I thought you didn't talk to Slytherins. How did you know about this?"

Honestly, for someone who is constantly bragging about how much he enjoys rejecting Slytherins in any way applicable to the situation at hand, he seems to be cavorting with more than just one. The current unfortunate one being herself. Why is he so eager to hear about a topic that, by all accounts, shouldn't even faze him? If she isn't so convinced that he has nothing to do with the letter, she'd be more than a little suspicious.

Sirius immediately eyes the small amount of space between their bodies and makes a show of stepping back as if she's contaminated the air or something. She's about to snap at him to stop being so aggravatingly dramatic all the time when he shrugs and breezily informs her, "Your friend has a loud voice, and the Herbology greenhouse is very open." Then, pausing, he smirks and adds, "You don't think I care enough to ask other people about you, do you? Aw, that's really sweet. I didn't know you liked me so much, Godric."

She is this close to snapping something else at this point. Preferably his neck.

"Don't get involved in my business, Black," she sneers at him. Her eyes flash as if she thinks he's the single most disgusting creation on the planet (two can play his silly little game), and she turns back on her heel to continue on with her escape. Unfortunately, escaping Sirius Black isn't an easy feat.

Like clockwork, he falls back into step beside her and, as if she hadn't spoken at all, asks, "So what did you think of it? The poem." The last bit is quickly added on when she shoots him a frustrated look that contains just the smallest fraction of confusion.

Vivian rolls her eyes. "Why do _you_ care?"

"I don't. I'm just curious. See, most girls would melt into a pile of goo if someone wrote them a love letter, but you're more ghoul than girl, so I'll bet your heart is just as frozen as ever."

"Well since that letter was so inarticulate and cringeworthy, I'll take that as a compliment."

"It _wasn't_ a compliment. And what do you mean _inarticulate?_ It was – I mean, I heard it was really great."

She glares at him, suspicions rising once more. "Did you have something to do with it?"

He scoffs. "Blair, the day I write you a love poem is the day I lose sight of everything I am. As if I would waste my time on a bitch like you."

"Thank Merlin for that. I'll take that as a compliment, too. Any girl you have your eye on is either a slutty bimbo or is too stupid to form a complete sentence."

"Better a stupid bimbo than an elitist pureblood piece of scum."

"Why are you wasting your time right now, then? I told you to get away from me and I meant it. I don't need to be seen associating with a blood traitor bastard like you."

He pauses, and Vivian smirks. She ploughs onward unforgivably, completely unconcerned with his lack of a response. In fact, she revels in it.

"Everyone knows your nothing more than a disappointment. Even your parents couldn't find anything worthwhile in you. Why else would they have kicked you to the curb?" She turns her head, catches his eye, and sneers, "Don't pry into my business as if you actually have the right to. We're not on equal footing. You're miles below me."

Sirius narrows his eyes at her and stops walking. Vivian doesn't. If she's at all surprised that he isn't next to her any longer, she doesn't show it, and she certainly doesn't stop to ask him what he's doing. With her head held high, she walks a little faster, eager to be rid of him once and for all. But then…

"I can't believe there's anyone in this school who thinks you're worth their time," Sirius says, in a voice that is so cold, it almost makes her shiver upon hearing it. And, despite her desire to be rid of him, Vivian can't help but pause to look back, vaguely impressed at the way he looks at her. In this moment, she can see traces of Slytherin in the way he catches her eye.

It surprises her.

Then, his mouth curling just so into a look of supreme hatred, Sirius slowly adds, "You repulse me."

And, Merlin – it's strange, but she thinks she actually feels her heart thud a bit in her chest when he says it, and when he promptly turns and walks away, Vivian finds herself standing in the middle of the hallway for a minute longer than she will admit later on, when she's turning this odd conversation over in her head and picking it apart for subtleties that might be of use to her at some undefined future moment. Trying to understand the strange, hollow feeling that pervades her at being on the receiving end of such words will become something she will unknowingly agonize over for some time, but it won't be for quite a while before she really figures out what that emotion is.

Vivian Blair, after all, does not feel something as trite as pain – especially when it comes in the form of one Sirius Black.

* * *

Vivian is quite happy when the remainder of the month passes without much interaction between her and Sirius. After the tense conversation they'd had in the hallway, he seems to have made the decision to steer clear of her for the most part. There are some exceptions to said decision, of course. During classes, his attempts at riling her up haven't ceased at all, but these attempts aren't only geared towards her. Sirius Black hates the entirety of her house, and all Slytherins are walking targets for him. She is happy, though, that she hasn't had any run-ins with him outside of classes. Either fortune is merely on her side, or Sirius is avoiding her for the first time she can recall. Thank Merlin for small favors.

Unfortunately, that is where her good fortune seems to end. Thanks to Rosalind's big mouth, word of Vivian's so-called secret admirer is quick to circulate the gossip mills of the school. She's well known enough for people to recognize her name and be able to match her face with it, and so when they hear that Vivian Blair has received a love poem, of all things, there's not a person in Hogwarts who isn't made aware of it. The most aggravating thing about it, though, isn't that people know. What frustrates her much more is how quickly the gossip has spiraled out of control.

By the end of the first week, Vivian has apparently received a dozen more love poems from her secret admirer, has gotten a marriage proposal from said admirer, and has been found in a broom closet with him. None of these are true. Vivian hasn't received another letter at all, let alone a proposal (thank Merlin), and tends to avoid broom closets as much as possible (unless otherwise tempted).

Regardless of the factual misgivings of her love life, however, she isn't terribly concerned. In fact, after spending the first week stewing with frustration over the rumors and gossip, she had decided to take a different approach. Slytherins are rather good at turning any situation in their favor, and in this instance, the old adage of 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' is one that she's decided to embrace. Wholeheartedly.

"Warts," she drawls to the small gathering of fellow Slytherins who have dropped in around her to hear about the juicy bit of gossip. It's dinnertime, and her end of the Slytherin table is packed with interested spectators who are hoping to learn more about their own icy princess's love life. At first, the attention had been annoying. Now, it's more of a source of amusement for her. She thinks it's rather hilarious, really.

Rosalind does not.

"Oh come off it. He does not have warts. A man who can write such a romantic poem must be ridiculously handsome," she argues, and Vivian's newfound followers bob their heads in agreement.

Vivian herself just shrugs, shoots Rosalind a smirk, and leans in to murmur, "I'll bet he does. He's probably ugly as hell, otherwise he'd just come up to me and ask me out instead of being a coward."

Morrigan barks out a laugh. "She does have a point, Rose. He's either ugly, or has problems with his confidence." Upon saying this, her eyes glimmer with innuendo, and she smirks.

Rosalind shakes her head hastily and declares, "Not necessarily! Besides, what does it matter if he's shy? Vivian's a cold-hearted bitch. Any guy would be wary about approaching her."

Her followers nod at this too, as if this is a perfectly normal thing to say in polite conversation. Though, at the Slytherin table, it isn't _abnormal_.

Vivian sends her a glare but, ultimately not taking offense, replies, "It doesn't matter either way, seeing as I actually haven't received any other letters." She glances imperiously at her following to ensure that they're made absolutely aware of this, but she has a feeling that they don't believe her. After all, according to the rumor mill, she's already got a drawer full of prose stuffed away in her dorm.

Rosalind muses upon this, looking around the Great Hall as if she's hoping to catch sight of the mysterious man who is after Vivian Blair's heart. No one seems to be paying them much mind, though, and she _humphs_. "Well I'm sure he's just biding his time, trying to compose an incredible new poem that will blow the first one out of the water."

Morrigan smirks, and drawls, "Or maybe he's lost interest."

"Doubt it," Rosalind fires back.

"You never know. Like you said, Vivian's a cold-hearted bitch."

"I am not."

"Yes you are," Rosalind impatiently says, and then turns back to Morrigan to add, "Just because Vivian's a bitch doesn't mean anything. I'm sure _someone_ likes her."

"Hey!"

"Seems hard to fathom, is all," Morrigan shrugs.

"I have plenty of wonderful characteristics, thank you very much," Vivian sneers at them, sticking her nose into the air with a look of supreme arrogance. Rosalind and Morrigan take one look at her and start snickering. Never a good sign, that.

"What? I do," Vivian defends, and immediately starts to compile a mental list of all her good qualities.

She minds her own business, for one. She doesn't go out of her way to bully people, like other Slytherins do. She's nice to look at, and has a pretty face when she isn't scowling, and a toned figure from years of Quidditch. Sure, she sometimes gets into verbal disputes with _certain_ _people_ who she won't be naming, but only because they aggravate her so much! And yes, she might occasionally throw some hexes at people who annoy her (_certain people_ aside), but only because they deserve it! She doesn't claim to be a saint. The line between good and evil is blurred, at best, regardless of which side of it you're standing. As for herself, she likes to think that she usually maintains a solid middle ground, never veering off into pure malevolence like some of her housemates, but neither breaking character and being overly kindhearted. She has her flaws, but she is, after all, only human.

Before Rosalind or Morrigan can inform her of her many negative qualities (which they're about to, Vivian can tell), she clears her throat and swiftly says, "Anyway, Morrigan, we've got Quidditch practice after dinner. We shouldn't be late or Avery will skin us."

Her dormmate doesn't look overly enthused at the prospect of late-night Quidditch practice. Worse still, Vivian's flimsy attempt at changing the subject hasn't exactly worked.

"Aw. I was really looking forward to naming all of your shitty attributes," Rosalind bemoans. Vivian kicks her under the table.

"Shut up," she rolls her eyes. "I could name quite a few shitty things about you, too."

Rosalind smirks. "This sounds like a conversation we'll have to return to at a later time, Blair. I'm curious to see which one of us can come up with better insults."

Vivian finds herself smirking back, weirdly amused at the prospect. "I'm heading to the pitch. Coming, Morrigan?"

Morrigan glances over at her and sighs. "Avery's such an arse, making us practice after dinner."

"Well, we're going up against Hufflepuff next week, so you can't be that surprised," Vivian returns as the two of them make their way out of the Great Hall.

The first match of the season is at the end of October, and Avery's been pushing them all during practice to get them ready for it. She's not sure if she's thankful or not, that he seems to be filling into his new position as Captain. His method of leadership is downright evil at times. He's always shouting at them for one reason or another, though this is hardly surprising. Avery's always mad about something, and Vivian suspects that he enjoys taking his anger out on the team, regardless of whether they've done something to deserve it or not.

As they two head out of the Great Hall and to go collect their brooms and equipment from the Slytherin common room, their followers also head out, and their gossiping can be heard from the Gryffindor table.

"_Warts?_ Are you kidding me?"

"That's actually pretty funny," James snickers.

Sirius glowers at his plate and staunchly denies, "I do not have warts." Then, under his breath, he adds, _"Anywhere."_

Remus snorts into his pumpkin juice and reaches for his napkin to quickly wipe his mouth.

Peter doesn't quite understand what Sirius is actually saying.

James just swallows back a laugh. His voice comes out a bit strangled as a result when he coughs, "Well you do get it on with a _lot_ of girls."

Sirius glares at him.

"…I'm confused," Peter says.

Remus hides his smirk into his hand.

"You're all shit friends," Sirius mutters, and doesn't bother explaining anything to Peter, who spends the remainder of dinner with a puzzled look on his face.

* * *

The first week of school bleeds into the second, and then the third. The seventh year curriculum only gets more challenging as the days go by, and the professors buckle down on them. Whatever courtesy they had given them in the first week of school has long since disappeared. NEWTs hang over the students' heads every waking moment. The piles of homework to complete is no laughing matter, and even Vivian finds herself struggling to get everything accomplished. By the end of the third week of school, she's dearly wishing she had decided not to take Astronomy, because the star charts alone take a good hour to complete, and that's an hour she could have spent tackling one of the many essays she's been assigned.

Quidditch, too, takes up much of her free time, so much so that if Vivian isn't in the common room or the library getting homework done, she's out on the pitch getting yelled at by Avery, who has become a truly menacing captain. Luckily, Slytherins don't take kindly to such treatment from one of their own, and the entire team steps up to put him in his place when he gets a little overboard. Thankfully, this occurrence isn't a regular happening.

Besides Quidditch and homework, Vivian is pleased to proclaim that she has not received any further letters from the little shit who had decided to mess with her. She still doesn't believe that her 'secret admirer' is actually someone who likes her. Her Slytherin mind chalks it up, more so, to someone wanting to have a good laugh at her expense, and she wants absolutely nothing to do with whoever it is. Rosalind still disagrees, but in wake of no immediate follow-up letter, she's stopped bringing it up and seems to have forgotten all about it.

Thankfully, Sirius hasn't been bothering her quite as much lately, either. She chalks _that_ up to their last conversation, but she can't find it in herself to feel sorry about what she had said to him. Instead, she feels an almost vicious sense of satisfaction to have gotten under his skin to such a degree that he would resort to avoiding her, and decides to keep these tactics in mind for the future. Dealing with him sneering at her in classes isn't so bad, when it all boils down to it. It's much better than getting into a shouting match that leads to a detention. She's got more important things to do than waste her evenings with Sirius Black.

It's a bit of a surprise when the first month of school passes faster than expected. In fact, though four whole weeks soon go by, it feels like yesterday that Vivian had stood upon platform 9 ¾ to board the Hogwarts Express. Before she knows it, the first Quidditch match of the season is upon their doorsteps, and as luck would have it, it is a match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. The first match of the season always garners much attention, no matter who the opposing teams are, but with Slytherin in the running, it seems even more caustic. Not that Vivian is complaining, mind you. Being the center of attention doesn't bother her, though she doesn't usually seek it out.

"Ready to lose today, Godric?" Black shouts at her from across the Great Hall during breakfast. By now, everyone in the school knows that when Sirius calls out that name, he is referring to her. It frankly makes her want to pull out her hair, and so her natural-born ability to keep her cool no matter the situation comes in handy in these instances.

Vivian sneers at him and doesn't bother responding. Over the years, she's learned that more than anything, Sirius Black hates being ignored.

"Remember, our little bet hangs in the balance!" she hears him yell, his voice half snickering, half annoyed.

Narcissa gives her a look when his voice carries over to the Slytherin table. "I forgot you made a bet with my cousin. You never said what it was," she prompts, pulling away from Lucius's side and leaning forward.

"Not that it's any of your business, but it concerns Quidditch," Vivian responds with an air of boredom, and helps herself to a plate of scrambled eggs.

Narcissa looks wary. "You do realize that he stops at nothing to get what he wants?"

At this, Vivian smirks widely and drawls, "So do I, Cissy."

The nickname immediately makes Narcissa cringe and glare at her, her icy blue eyes turning cold as she turns away. She does so hate it when Vivian calls her that, which is naturally why she uses the name whenever she wants to get her off her back. It works wonders this time, too, because Narcissa ignores Vivian for the rest of breakfast.

The stands are already crowded by the time Vivian and the rest of the Slytherin team trudges down to change into their gear. The stadium has been decorated as per usual, with its large house banners separating it into four sections. The Slytherin section is by far the most boisterous today, and also the most garishly decorated. A sea of emerald overpowers the rest of the house colors in such an aggressive way that already, people are sending the overpowering banners nasty looks. It would have amused Vivian, had she not been dealing with the usual pre-match jitters that always pop up before a game.

She keeps to herself as she pulls her emerald and white Quidditch uniform on, ties her hair into a bun, and makes sure that there aren't any loose strands that might get in her way. Morrigan is loudly trying to get Mauve to say something, and her tactics this morning include graphically detailing her latest broom closet excursion that had occurred a few days prior. Mauve probably assumes this is exaggerated, but Vivian knows better. Morrigan is too honest for her own good, especially when she's trying to get a reaction out of someone.

"Oh leave her alone, you slut," Vivian calls from across the girl's lockers.

Morrigan sends her a rude hand gesture and retorts, "Better a slut than a prude, Blair!"

The two glares at each other for all of three seconds before breaking out into smirks and going back to what they were doing a moment before.

"We're gonna wipe the floor with these Hufflepuff losers," Morrigan crows happily as they make their way out of the lockers. Then she pauses to add, "Though I wouldn't mind nursing Sheaffer back to health after we decimate them."

Vivian snorts. Outside of the dugout, the riotous noise of the cheering crowd is almost deafening. She has to talk loudly to ensure that her response is heard, and nearly ends up yelling, "I don't think a broom closet would be able to take that kind of abuse."

Morrigan just snickers and leans closer to Vivian to purr, "Nah, but it's pretty easy getting into the Hufflepuff commons."

Vivian shoots her an exasperated look. She doesn't get a chance to respond (probably a good thing) before the announcer is introducing the Hufflepuff players.

"FOR HUFFLEPUFF, HERE COMES SIMMONS, ATHERTON, ELSON, FELLOWS, SHEAFFER, IRVINE, AND THE LOVELY MADDOCK!"

With a burst of yellow and black, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team darts onto the pitch, their colors dancing in the afternoon sun of summer's end. The day is hot and more humid than normal, but that aside, it is without a doubt the perfect day for Quidditch. With the sun gleaming merrily upon them, Vivian is confident that she'll find the snitch without a problem. It isn't that Hufflepuff is a bad team or anything, but Slytherin has a new star beater, and Vivian rather sees her as a secret weapon. She can't wait to hear the crowd once they get out there and see just how strong she is.

Mauve McCallum looks unassuming enough as she stands there with the rest of the team, mounted on her broom and ready for when the announcer introduces them – but anyone who has seen her play will know that there is truly nothing unassuming about her. Thinking of her as the team's secret weapon isn't exactly a stretch. Even Avery has been visibly impressed with the girl during practices, and that is saying quite a lot seeing as she goes against all of his beliefs regarding blood purity. For him to put aside these beliefs, even for a short time, is colossal.

Vivian glances over at Mauve, who's eyes briefly meet hers. She doesn't outwardly appear nervous, but she'd have to have a heart made of stone not to be. It's her first time on the team, and the very first match is always the hardest.

"Hey, McCallum," Vivian says, nudging her a bit in the side to catch her attention. The large girl turns to glance at her, looking part affronted, part curious, until Vivian merely says, "Good luck."

Perhaps the girl has never been on the receiving end of well-wishing friendliness before, for she doesn't seem to know what to say in response to it. Mauve doesn't talk very much, Vivian's noticed. She sticks to herself and seems to be deathly afraid of garnering attention of any kind. After a beat of silence, her mouth drops open to say something, but she's interrupted by the announcer, a seventh year student who has been presiding over the Quidditch matches for several years now.

"That's our cue," Avery says, and then gruffly informs them, "If we lose today, I'll have you all doing laps as punishment." With those lovely words, he shoots forward out of the Slytherin dug-out just as his name is called over the loudspeaker.

Vivian rolls her eyes and darts after him, the rest of the team sweeping behind her. Avery has always been an arse, but this time she at least understands why. At the start of second term last year, Hufflepuff had completely crushed them when Avery got hit with a rogue bludger and nearly broke his arm. The fiasco that had ensued had ended when the Hufflepuff Seeker, Timothy Elson, had made an impressive dive for the snitch and managed to get his hands on it before her. The final score had been so pathetic that the entire school had been snickering about it for weeks, and it had been made all the worse because Avery had spent the entire week before the match boasting about how the game was already in the bag.

Avery's threat about making them do laps is most definitely real. He still holds a grudge against Hufflepuff for that failure even now.

"HERE'S SLYTHERIN'S AVERY, BLAIR, MCCALLUM, FLINT, LLOYD, MULCIBER, AND BLACK! AND THEY'RE TAKING THEIR PLACE OPPOSITE THE HUFFLEPUFF TEAM. LOOKS LIKE THERE'S SOME TENSION ALREADY FOLKS – HOPEFULLY HUFFLEPUFF IS ON TOP OF THEIR GAME TODAY AND MANAGES TO PULL A FAST ONE AGAIN – OW! I MEAN: BEST OF LUCK TO BOTH THE TEAMS!"

There is indeed some tension in the air, but it is a relatively normal feeling whenever Slytherin is on the pitch. Despite Vivian's outward denial that Slytherin tends to play dirty, it is actually very true. Rogue bludgers are really the least of their tactics. Throwing jinxes at the other players is a bit more commonplace. Not that Vivian has ever resorted to such measures. Well, recently anyway. (She happens to be rather good at using her experimental charms on unsuspecting chasers.)

As Madam Hooch approaches the two teams with the starting quaffle, Vivian sweeps her gaze over the Hufflepuff team. Her eyes land on Elson, who is just opposite of her in the line since he is their Seeker, and they exchange a sneering look. Elson is a rather good Seeker, and he's obsessed with Quidditch. He's been on the Hufflepuff team since second year, when he almost singlehandedly brought Hufflepuff to victory in the House Cup. Since then, Gryffindor has been their biggest opponent, but this year Vivian hopes that Slytherin will also stay in the running for long enough to crush them. The last few years, they'd struck out halfway through the season and never made it to the finals.

Really, a lot is hanging in the balance here. If Slytherin doesn't beat Gryffindor, then Sirius will lord his victory over her for ages. That, and she'll be forced to live up to their deal. She's been deeply regretting agreeing to such a ridiculous thing, especially since Sirius has been having entirely too much fun informing her about all the potential wishes he's coming up with. The other night in Astronomy, he's even thrown a note at her head that detailed his most recent ideas. The least embarrassing on said list had been making her bellow out the lyrics of 'Hoggy Warty Hogwarts' during final exams; the worst, making her go up to Filch and confess her undying love for him. Needless to say, she isn't overly enthused about the thought of losing this game, because it would only incite Sirius's glee all the more.

"No funny business today," Hooch says, and notably casts a glance at the Slytherin team, who is notorious for doing just that. After eyeing them for a moment, she strides forward with the quaffle, pushes her whistle between her lips, and releases the enchanted ball up into the air as she blows out a high-pitched wail from the metal device. Before the whistle silences, both teams are shooting forward, and Hooch is tossing up the bludgers and the snitch into the immediate chaos.

It truly is chaotic, but Vivian is used to it by now. She darts between teammate and opponent, makes a harsh zigzag to avoid getting slammed by Mulciber as he makes a grab for the quaffle, and does a twisting spiral on her broom to get out of the tumultuous atmosphere. In the thick of it, yellow and emerald blur together to such an extent that it's near impossible to tell the difference between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, but once she zips out of the fray and makes her way higher into the air, it's like stepping into an entirely new world.

The entire pitch rises up to greet her, decorated on all sides with the insignias of the four houses. On her immediate right is Ravenclaw, with its dark blue and silver banners. Across from her is Gryffindor, bright and vibrant in red and gold. But – it's the Hufflepuff and Slytherin stands that are, naturally, the most garishly decorated. There isn't a Hufflepuff student who isn't decked out in their yellow and black scarf, despite the fact that the weather isn't that chilly. She even thinks she sees someone in the front row dressed up as a badger – until she realizes that it's just a student in an abnormally large jacket and a furry hat.

As for Slytherin…

A smirk catches onto her face as Vivian sees that someone from her house had enchanted the large banners that cover the front of each house section, and has made an enormous painted serpent slither around the fabric. Its beady reptilian eyes narrow at the Hufflepuff section, and the people sitting in the front row of the stands jump back when it bursts across the banners to chase their painted badger around the yellow background.

Snickering at the sight, Vivian angles her broom higher into the air and casually leans back. Below her, Mulciber has managed to intercept the quaffle from one of the Hufflepuff chasers and is zooming towards the goal. His hulking, muscled figure is hard to ignore, and he would surely have landed their first goal if Rodney Shaeffer, the Hufflepuff captain, hadn't blocked it from his post at the hoops. The Slytherin stands immediately 'boo' at the failure while the rest of the stadium cheers happily.

It isn't very surprising that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are also very pleased with Mulciber's failed attempt at scoring. Slytherin and Gryffindor are the ones who have the real rivalry, but when it comes to Quidditch, it's usually her house against the rest of the school.

"AW, TOO BAD! IT LOOKS LIKE SLYTHERIN CHASER ADRIAN MULCIBER NEEDS A LITTLE MORE PRACTICE – WHAT, PROFESSOR? IT'S TRUE – AND NOW OUR GORGEOUS MADDOCK'S IN POSSESSION OF THE QUAFFLE, IT'S INTERCEPTED BY FLINT – BACK TO SIMMONS – OOH, AVERY'S SENT A BLUDGER AFTER SIMMONS BUT ATHERTON'S TAKEN CARE OF IT – GOOD JOB ATHERTON! – WHAT, I'M NOT PLAYING FAVORITES PROFESSOR! MADDOCK'S GOT THE QUAFFLE AGAIN AND SHE'S ZOOMING TOWARDS THE GOAL – IF HUFFLEPUFF WINS, MAYBE SHE'LL AGREE TO GO TO HOGSMEADE WITH ME THIS WEEKEND – OW!"

Vivian watches anxiously as Regulus snaps to attention at the Slytherin goals, leaning forward on his broom and getting ready to block. Maddock is on a crash course to their goal, flying so fast and low that not even Lloyd, their star chaser, is able to catch up with her. It's all on Regulus's shoulders now.

"ANNNNDDDDD MADDOCK SHOOTS – BUT AT THE LAST MOMENT, BLACK KNOCKS IT AWAY! WHAT A SAVE! I'LL ADMIT THAT I'M GRUDGINGLY IMPRESSED – AND MERLIN'S ARSE TAKE A LOOK AT THAT SHOT FROM SLYTHERIN BEATER MCCALLUM! IRVINE'S NEARLY KNOCKED OFF HIS BROOM – IS THAT A FOUL? I CALL FOUL!"

Vivian groans as Madam Hooch blows her whistle and watches Irvine slowly makes his way down to the grass. He has a short discussion with Madam Pomfrey, but seems to be fine with no broken bones, and quickly rejoins his team in the air. As he does, Hooch shouts, "No foul! Carry on!" She waves a little flag that signals her decision to the announcer, and the entire pitch begins to boo.

"UNFORTUNATELY IT ISN'T A FOUL, AS NO MAGIC WAS USED. THAT, MY FRIENDS, WAS JUST BRUTE STRENGTH – THIS IS NATURALLY VERY SHOCKING BECAUSE SLYTHERIN DOES LOVE THEIR DIRTY TRICKS – OW, OKAY OKAY, LET'S GET BACK TO THE GAME! AND THE QUAFFLE IS RELEASED ONCE MORE – FLINT TAKES IT FROM FELLOWS AND TEAMS UP WITH MULCIBER – THEY'RE HEADING TOWARDS THE HUFFLEPUFF GOAL AND – DAMN IT THEY'VE SCORED – MERLIN, SHAEFFER, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU – SORRY PROFESSOR, I'M JUST REALLY PASSIONATE!"

Vivian snorts, flying above the game as she searches for the snitch. So far, there has been no sign of the elusive golden ball, though it hasn't been more than fifteen minutes or so since the match started. Sometimes it takes hours for it to appear. The longest match that she can recall, back in third year between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, had lasted nearly four hours before Potter had managed to locate the snitch and put an end to the drawn-out game. In any case, though, it looks like Elson hasn't seen any sign of the snitch either, because he's flying a little too casually to have noticed anything.

Another ten minutes pass in much the same way. Hufflepuff scores twice, leaving Slytherin behind by a couple dozen points. After another half hour, Avery is so aggravated by Hufflepuff's lead on them that he calls for a time-out, and Vivian sighs as she slowly makes her way to the pitch.

"Find the fucking snitch, Blair," he sneers at her the moment her feet touch the ground, and she rolls her eyes.

"I can't procure it from thin air, you arse," she snaps, against her better judgement. In the background, the announcer informs the stadium at large about the time-out and rattles on and on about the Hufflepuff chaser, Maddock, and how her hair gleams so gorgeously in the sun. Down on the pitch, however, the mood is not quite so jovial.

Avery swivels his head towards her, looking fairly enraged by her snappish retort, and stalks forward with a glare that would probably make anyone nervous. As it is, Vivian is a little too aggravated to be intimidated by him. It isn't as if she can summon the snitch into her hand.

Getting into her personal space, Avery hisses, "If we lose this game, I swear to Merlin, Blair, I will make you regret it."

"I'm trying to find it, Avery," she responds impatiently.

"Well try harder," he bites.

They have a miniature Slytherin show-down right there on the pitch as they both send their deadliest glares at each other, and apparently said glares are so impressive that it catches the attention of the rest of the stadium.

"IS THAT ANGER OR SEXUAL TENSION? BLAIR AND AVERY ARE GETTING PRETTY CLOSE – PROFESSOR, HONESTLY, IT WAS JUST A QUESTION – "

"I don't know why I expect you to pull this off, Blair. You're good for breeding, but not much else," Avery spits at her, and she's so shocked that she visibly shakes with fury.

"_What the fuck did you just say to me – ?"_ she starts, ready to give him a piece of her mind. Alas, she doesn't get the chance before she's interrupted.

"Calm down, you two," Regulus, the voice of reason, says, and reaches out to grab Avery's shoulder to pull him away. Avery is so strung-out that his reaction to this is to turn, grab the front of Regulus's robes, and shove him down into the grass.

"OOOOOHHHHHH WOW, THERE'S DEFINITELY SOME TENSION, BUT I DON'T THINK IT'S SEXUAL. LOOKS LIKE THERE'S AN ALTERCATION HAPPENING WITH THE SLYTHERIN TEAM!"

And, all at once, everyone's attention is turned away from Quidditch to instead keep track of the epic argument happening on the grass.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Vivian demands, and pushes Avery to the side. She doesn't help Regulus stand up because he's already pushing himself to his feet and catching Avery's attention.

With a sneer, Regulus scowls, "Save your anger for the Hufflepuffs."

"I would if this team wasn't such a fucking failure," Avery bites back.

"_You're_ the captain – do something about it," Regulus argues.

"AND AVERY GOES FOR A SHOVE – INTERCEPTED BY BLAIR, WHO'S APPARENTLY A LOT STRONGER THAN SHE LOOKS – MULCIBER JOINS THE FRAY TO BACK UP AVERY – BLACK PUSHES BLAIR OUT OF THE WAY AND AVOIDS A NASTY PUNCH FROM LLOYD – AH, BLAIR'S BACK IN THE RUNNING WITH A SHOCKING RIGHT HOOK AND LLOYD IS DOWN – I DIDN'T KNOW SHE HAD IT IN HER – "

Within minutes, the entire Slytherin team is in an epic fist fight right there in the center of the pitch, and not even Madam Hooch can break it up. Her whistle blasts through the air several times before she finally resorts to using her wand, and only with a little bit of magic does it halt the chaos once and for all. Avery is dragged back as if by a physical force, and a barrier is set up between the opposing fighters.

"I am thoroughly disappointed with _all_ of you!" Hooch yells, "Why, I've never seen such behavior on the pitch – and from members of the same team, too! I ought to give Hufflepuff the win right here and now!"

The Slytherin team immediately quiets down at this, but the rest of the stadium gets incredibly loud.

"HOOCH THREATENS TO GIVE HUFFLEPUFF THE WIN BY DEFAULT!" the announcer shouts, and the entire pitch goes into an uproar, obviously hoping that she will.

Vivian groans, watching Madam Hooch call Sheaffer over from the Hufflepuff side so that she can have a discussion with the two captains. Avery looks positively mulish as he crosses his arms and sneers at Sheaffer when he zips over on his broom. No one can hear what Hooch is saying to them, but the announcer is having a field day with his theories. He sounds absolutely gleeful about this turn of events.

"IF SLYTHERIN FORFEITS THE GAME, THAT PUTS THEM OUT OF THE RUNNING UNTIL THE START OF SECOND TERM! THEY'D BE BEHIND ON ALL THE OTHER TEAMS AND IT'S VERY POSSIBLE THAT THEY WOULDN'T EVEN BE ABLE TO COMPETE IN THE FINALS AT ALL!"

Beside her, Regulus runs a hand through his windswept black hair and sighs, "You okay?"

She casts a glance at him, a little taken aback by his apparent concern. Before she can answer him, though, Mauve McCallum steps over to join them and scowls, "This is terrible. Avery should be taken off the team."

Again, Vivian is surprised, this time because Mauve is actually talking to her. Not that they haven't spoken a few words during practices and such, but this is probably the most she's ever heard come out of the girl's mouth. Mauve is the quiet sort, and Vivian has a tendency of minding her own business when it comes to anything that doesn't have to do with her own life.

Grumbling a bit, Vivian agrees, "The whole team will have his head if we have to forfeit."

Regulus snorts, "The whole _house_ will."

He's probably right about that. Slytherin has never had the same camaraderie between its members as the other houses, but if they lose the first game of the season by default to _Hufflepuff_ of all houses, they would be furious and Vivian wouldn't blame them for it. This is pathetic.

As Hooch wraps things up with the captains, Vivian looks back at Regulus and frowns, "You've got a black eye, you know."

The straightforward way she informs him of this makes the edge of his mouth tilt up into a ghostly, barely-there smile. He scoffs quietly and murmurs, "It was worth it. Avery was being an arse."

She's got to agree with that. Luckily, though, Hooch is in a forgivable mood and isn't holding it against him, because when Avery storms back to his team, he gruffly says, "Back on your brooms. Hooch isn't throwing the game."

Vivian is honestly surprised by this. She'd expected either a forfeit or, at the very least, a rematch at some later date. She doesn't complain though, and merely readies her Silver Arrow, hooking a leg over it and preparing to take off. As she does, Avery sends her a glare and mutters, "The snitch, Blair. Catch it or I'll gut you."

She just rolls her eyes at him, looking outwardly annoyed. Inside, though, she can't help but feel a bit wary to be on the receiving end of his threat. Theodore Avery and his gang of Slytherin friends have acted like they rule Hogwarts for years now, and they're a force to be reckoned with, especially with everything that's been happening in the wizarding world outside the school. They haven't exactly been quiet about their support of the Dark Lord.

Hooch blows the whistle and the two teams take to the air again, though not without a whole lot of booing from the stands. The rest of the school is clearly not pleased with the fact that Slytherin is still able to play and they aren't afraid of making that known. As Vivian rises back up over the rest of the players and the announcer dives back into tracking the game, the sound of the audience's frustration fills her ears – especially one voice in particular.

"Take Slytherin down! Take Slytherin down!" the Gryffindor stands chant, and in the center of it all are the Marauders, who are in the front row. Potter is even standing up on the bench as he pretends to act like a conductor, his hands waving theatrically in the air as he leads them along.

"If this is how all your games are gonna go, Gryffindor will beat you long before the finals!" Sirius shouts at her, near enough for her to hear. He's got a smirking grin on that doesn't drop even when Vivian sends him a rude hand gesture and zips away to search for the snitch. As she flies off, Sirius snickers, "It's in the bag, Prongs, I'm telling you."

James, who is now clamoring back into his seat, pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and smirks, "Agreed. Slytherin has a shit team this year. The only silver lining is that new beater they've got."

"I can't believe Hooch is letting them play," Remus mutters, leaning against the railing of the stands as his eyes follow the quaffle on its way to the Hufflepuff goal. Luckily, Sheaffer blocks it.

Snorting, Sirius adds, "Yeah, that was crazy. Did you see my little brother get pushed into the dirt? I wish I had a camera."

"Never mind that – Avery's the one who started it all. Didn't you see?" Remus asks. Out of all his friends, Remus has never cared for Quidditch like James and Sirius, but he does enjoy watching the sport, unlike Peter, who had almost not bothered to come because he isn't fond of the game and claims that there are too many rules for it to make sense.

James shrugs, "Well yeah, that's not surprising. He's an arse."

All four of them agree, even Peter, who has brought some sugar quills with him to munch on and is more engaged with eating them than he is with the game itself.

Sirius opens his mouth to say something but doesn't get the chance, because suddenly Vivian is shooting down to the grass with such force that there can only be one reason for it, and everyone in the stadium leans forward to see if she's going after the snitch.

"BLAIR SEEMS TO HAVE SEEN THE SNITCH! SHE'S DIVING AFTER IT – ELSON HOT ON HER TAIL – YES, IT LOOKS LIKE THIS CRAZY GAME IS ABOUT TO END, THANK GOD, WE'VE ALL HAD ENOUGH SLYTHERIN DRAMA TO LAST A LIFETIME – OW!"

James elbows his way forward to lean over the railing, narrowing his eyes to catch sight of a glimmer of gold. His trained gaze catches sight of the snitch within seconds. The game is, indeed, about to end.

"Merlin, if Blair catches that damned thing…" Sirius trails off, looking displeased at the way she's streaking over the grass, so daringly low to the ground that she leaves a windswept trail on the pitch behind her, the grass bending back as she zooms over it. Elson leans into his broom in hopes of catching up to her, but it doesn't look good. He's too far behind, having only noticed the snitch when he'd seen Vivian make a dive for it, and as such he's at a distinct disadvantage.

If Sirius is impressed by the way Vivian tips her broom forward to catch the golden ball, he would never admit it to anyone. Nor would he say that, even despite his general lack of respect for anyone in emerald green, she does make quite a sight as her hand closes around the snitch and Slytherin scores 150 points.

"BLAIR HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WINS, DAMN IT!"

"Oh _come on,"_ Sirius exclaims, running a hand through his black hair and glowering at Vivian as she raises the snitch into the air to prove that she's caught it. No, he wouldn't ever admit that it had been an inspiring catch.

At his side, James doesn't look nearly as upset as Sirius. He just shrugs and says, "This means that we'll have the honor of crushing them during our match with Slytherin in a month or so."

The words do, admittedly, make Sirius feel a tad bit better, because as he watches Vivian touch down on the grassy pitch to join her wayward teammates, he gleefully concedes, "True. We'll get to be the ones to put them in their place."

And oh, he does so love getting the better of Vivian Blair.

* * *

Slytherin's win garners mixed reactions from the rest of the school. The majority of the school is displeased with their success on the pitch, to such an extent that it's all people can talk about for the next week. Gryffindor, as their natural rival, has the most to say on the matter, and none of it is good. Rumors about cheating and throwing the game are rife within the halls, but as usual, Slytherin house merely basks in the attention. Vivian and her housemates don't seem to be at all bothered by the accusations – probably because they are all so used to them by now.

In any case, Vivian thinks it's actually a little amusing that the one time Slytherin did not cheat at a Quidditch match, so many assumptions are tossed around indicating that they did. In the Great Hall, she smirks at the looks that the other houses send her table, and it is this smirk that makes a certain someone so annoyed.

"Look at her. She looks entirely too pleased with herself," Sirius grumbles, attacking his meat pie with singular vengeance as he eyes Vivian from the Gryffindor table. If his friends find his frustration strange, they don't make any outward sign of it. Sirius's obsessive hatred for Vivian Blair is just a part of their every day life at this point. It's been going on for years now – perhaps, even, since the start of school way back in first year. The recent conversation about the previous engagement has shed some light onto his reasons for loathing her so much, but really, even without such a cause, he would still probably find something in Vivian to dislike. She is, after all, a Slytherin.

James glances over at her, shrugs, and says, "Just ignore her, mate. You let her get under your skin way too easily."

Sirius's immediate reaction is to indignantly splutter, "No I don't!" Some of the flaky crust of his meat pie is inelegantly spewed into James's face at his harsh denial.

Expression falling into one of disgust, James glowers at him and paws at his face to rid it of crumbs. Across the table, Remus rolls his eyes at the pair and dryly says, "Yes you do. She's all you ever talk about. It's frankly annoying."

Peter nods agreeably, but stops the moment he sees Sirius's mouth drop open in betrayal. The sight of the mouthful of partially chewed meat pie has Remus making a disgusted face, too, but Peter's reaction doesn't extend past a halfhearted shrug as he returns to his own meal with renewed vigor.

"She is not all I ever talk about," Sirius grumbles defiantly, and grabs his goblet of pumpkin juice with angry intent.

James snorts, "Sorry to break it to you, Padfoot, but Remus has a point." When Sirius turns to spear him with his betrayed glower, he hurries to add, "Last night, you wouldn't _shut up_ about her. I had to put a silencing charm on my curtains just to get some sleep."

Sirius pauses, puts his goblet down, and mutters, "Oh. That's why you wouldn't answer me when I asked what you thought about her catching the snitch." His three friends fall silent and look at him with knowing eyes, and he huffs, "What? It was a question about Quidditch, not about Blair. I'm annoyed because Slytherin won the game after their unprofessional fistfight. It has nothing to do with her."

Everyone in Gryffindor – and indeed, the whole school – knows just how obsessed Sirius Black is with Quidditch. In a way, he's even worse than James. He's been known to put the game before everything else in his life, and that includes the most important aspect of it: girls. Last year during the finals, he even broke up with his then-girlfriend, Lauren Adamson, because she was trying to distract him from coming up with new Quidditch tactics in the common room. It had been a huge scene in which Sirius had told her to bugger off when she'd tried to pull him into a kiss, she'd gotten offended because Sirius Black _never_ complains when a girl gives him attention, she'd accused him of caring about Quidditch more than her, he had unapologetically agreed, and the entire common room had gotten a taste of just how insane his girlfriends can be. (Flying inkpots and attacking quills being the least of the insanity.)

The most incredible thing about it was the fact that Lauren had only been dating him for one week. When Sirius does agree to go steady with a girl, it very rarely lasts for longer than that. His current track record is a month, but the other Marauders aren't sure it counts because he hadn't been entirely faithful during that time.

Anyway – everyone knows how seriously he takes Quidditch. Unfortunately for him, his three friends also know how seriously he takes Vivian Blair.

"Oh come off it," James laughs, nudging him with a smirk. "You've been acting differently around her this year."

Remus nods sagely and pipes in to add, "You've definitely been noticing her more than last year."

Peter pauses, then shakes his head and says, "Padfoot hates Blair with a passion."

Sirius straightens up and nods resolutely, shooting Peter a thankful glance that immediately makes Peter beam at him – until, of course, James snickers and says under his breath, "Oh, there's definitely _passion_ involved." And then Sirius elbows him hard in the ribs and James immediately coughs into his goblet, spluttering back his mouthful of pumpkin juice just as Lily Evans looks over at him.

The Marauder's cheeks turn bright pink when Lily's face contorts into an expression of disgust and she promptly looks away. The moment she does, James pushes his goblet to the table and turns to Sirius with a hissed, "That was evil."

Sirius, though, just shrugs and unapologetically returns, _"That's_ what you get for insinuating that I feel anything more than extreme hatred for Blair."

Perhaps it's because Remus is sitting across from Sirius rather than beside him at the table, but he doesn't look at all afraid of unleashing Sirius's anger when he smirks and calmly says, "There's a fine line between love and hate."

Of course, Remus isn't out of bounds (in terms of Sirius's revenge, that is), because a moment after he says it, he receives a hard kick to his shin that makes him drop his fork and glare at Sirius with pained eyes.

Sirius grins evilly. "Don't look at my like that, Rem. You both got what you deserved. Peter is obviously my only true friend."

At this, Peter looks positively delighted, and he quickly says, "I'll accept you no matter _how_ much you like Blair, Padfoot!"

James and Remus immediately burst into laughter. Sirius stares at Peter for one long moment before turning back to his meal to angrily stab at his food. Peter looks around at his friends, confused.

"By the way," James says after some minutes of insane laughter. There's still traces of it in his voice when he snickers, "What ever happened with your latest prank? I didn't see her making a big deal about it."

Though he doesn't refer to the love poem outright, seeing as they're in public, it's obvious what he's talking about. Sirius looks a bit relieved that the conversation has shifted, and even Remus and Peter look interested to know the answer, the former having stopped laughing upon hearing the question.

As one, they all turn to glance over at the Slytherin table, where Vivian is sitting. James does have a point. Since sending the poem, there has been no change in Vivian's countenance at all. It's as if she hadn't thought it strange in the least.

Sirius isn't concerned about it though. He just shrugs. "Prongs, this prank isn't a one-time thing. We have to let it build if we're gonna see results."

James looks gleeful upon hearing this. Peter happily scarfs down some mashed potatoes. Remus purses his lips.

"You mean you're going to send another one?" he asks warily, looking rather displeased. His prefect badge glistens on his robes; a suddenly heavy and more noticeable weight. By all rights, he should tell Sirius to stop this before it hurts anyone, but…

Well, Sirius Black is a force to be reckoned with, especially when it comes to a certain Slytherin.

With a wide smirk, Sirius crows, "Of course! I already have one ready to go. It's full of romantic dribble that will melt even _her_ cold, miserable heart."

Remus opens his mouth to make an attempt, at least, to tell him off, but he's interrupted (go figure) by James, who leans in to demand, "I want to read it before you send it off!"

Sirius, apparently feeling better now that he's the center of respectable attention, grins. He slings an arm over James's shoulders and declares, "You can read it after dinner. I'm planning on sending it with the morning post."

Peter unabashedly sighs, "You're a pretty good poet, Padfoot. It's really surprising."

Remus sighs too, but it's in a much less worshipful tone. "It's uncanny is what it is. And frankly a little weird."

Sirius isn't offended by this at all and just breezily responds, "Please. With my intimate knowledge of the female race, what'd you expect? I know how to woo a girl."

These words, though, only make James smirk widely and cast an amused glance at Remus, who coughs into his goblet to hide a laugh, his wariness momentarily forgotten in wake of Sirius's proclamation. As for Sirius, his expression immediately falls into a glower as he hastily adds, "I am _not_ _trying_ to woo Vivian Blair, you twats. It's a _prank."_

James hums in dry agreement, mainly because it makes his friend so aggravated and it's hilarious, but before he can respond, someone else beats him to the punch.

"You're trying to woo Vivian Blair?" Lily demands, apparently overhearing his adamant denial (it had been a bit louder than he'd meant for it to be). She turns to raise a pointed eyebrow at him.

Remus coughs again. Peter looks up from his meal to watch the confrontation eagerly. James composes his expression into a winsome, boyish smile that he sends Lily's way. Sirius…well.

Full of frustration, he tilts his head back and loudly proclaims, "No! Vivian Blair makes me sick!"

Just as before, said proclamation is apparently a tad bit louder than he means for it to be, because it doesn't just garner the attention of the whole Gryffindor table, but also the Slytherin table, too. Across the hall, Vivian looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. She says something to one of her groupies sitting next to her, who bursts into laughter, and turns to send Sirius a smirk as if she's extremely amused to have gotten under his skin without even lifting a finger. Sirius immediately shoots a fearsome glare at her and then looks over at Lily, who is sending him a weird look.

James clears his throat and leans forward to quickly say, "Lily, love of my life, you look absolutely mesmerizing this evening – "

Lily lets out an aggravated huff and stands up, ducking down to collect her bag before storming out of the hall. James deflates with a sigh, and the rest of the table goes back to what they were doing before Sirius's loud declaration, evidently realizing that if Lily Evans has just walked off on James Potter, the world must be normal again.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius picks up his fork to continue eating, but the moment he does, his plate suddenly lifts off the table and overturns the contents of his meal into his lap. He freezes with his fork still hovering above where his plate had been only seconds before…until he hears the Slytherin table erupt into snickering laughter.

Sirius lifts his head to glare heatedly at Vivian, who is smirking so widely that her eyes gleam. It gets worse though, when she stands up and loudly calls, "Careful, Black. We don't want you getting sick!"

And then, with her cronies laughing around her, she sends him one last smirking grin before flouncing from the hall.

He takes back his previous words. If Vivian Blair had looked pleased with herself before, she looks _excessively_ satisfied now.


	11. Cui fortuna ipsa cedit

**Chapter Eleven | Cui fortuna ipsa cedit**

**[To whom fortune herself yields]**

All four Marauders are eager for breakfast the next morning. Peter has spent all night dreaming of pancakes soaked through with hot butter and sugary maple syrup. Remus is anxious to eat as quickly as possible so as to head down to the library before classes start, in hopes of getting ahead on some homework before the full moon in a few days. James is excited to see his lady-love and attempt to engage her in conversation over a plate of poached eggs. Sirius can't wait to witness for himself what sort of reaction he'll receive when Vivian Blair gets his latest love poem.

Oh, it's truly a work of art. James had claimed that it had practically made him fall in love on the spot, and he had broken out into a Celestina Warbeck song –

_(Your every wish is my command_

_My fragile heart is in your hand_

_And now, at last, I understand_

_The magic about you - !)_

And while the lyrics had been a bit cringeworthy, James has been humming it under his breath all morning, evidently having gotten it stuck in his head, and Sirius does have to admit that it's a tad bit catchy. Of course, it hadn't been quite as catchy when James had tried using it to jokingly serenade Sirius while they were getting dressed. Just the mere memory of the waggling eyebrows and ridiculous kissy faces James had made while Sirius had been pulling on his shirt makes him want to shove him into the bathroom and lock the door again.

In any case, when they all enter the Great Hall, they're probably the only students in the school who are so bright-eyed and merry. Alas, their eagerness to start the day does not last very long, because 1) they are not serving pancakes at all this morning, and so Peter's maple syrup dreams are utterly crushed in favor of healthier alternatives, 2) Lily has chosen a seat that is surrounded on all sides by her fellow females, and doesn't even give James a second glance when he attempts to get her attention, and 3) Vivian Blair isn't even here. Remus is the only Marauder who remains bright-eyed as he sits down and quickly loads his plate with eggs and bacon, still intent on continuing with his library plans regardless of his friends' suddenly downtrodden moods.

"What is this? Where is she?" Sirius hisses, scanning the Slytherin table in case he just hadn't seen her the first time. Sure enough, there is no sign of wavy chocolate curls or arrogant eyes anyway. Well – there are in fact plenty of arrogant eyes, just not the ones he's looking for.

James doesn't even hear him. He's too busy pouting into his coffee and shooting pitiful glances towards Lily, as if hoping that she'll put him out of his misery and at least look at him. (She doesn't.)

"She had better not ruin my morning," Sirius mutters angrily, reaching for some bacon and shoving a few pieces onto his plate. He tears off a bite and chews aggressively, still glowering at the Slytherins as if it's _their_ fault that Vivian's having a late start today.

Remus rolls his eyes. "It's still early, Sirius. I'm sure she's on her way as we speak."

Beside them, Peter asks, "Why are you looking for Blair, Padfoot?"

Sirius sighs impatiently and reminds him, _"Because,_ Wormtail, she's in for a nice little surprise this morning."

"Weren't you around when we helped Paddy here compose his next masterpiece?" James demands, his attention finally drawn away from Lily and back to the situation at hand. And – speaking of hands, Sirius wallops his over the back of James's head in retribution for calling him 'Paddy', a nickname that they all know he loathes because it makes him sound like a leprechaun.

"Hey!" James exclaims, and lifts a hand to rub at his head. Apparently, his yelp is loud enough to finally draw Lily's eyes, which he isn't sure is a good thing or not. The moment he sees that she's looking at him, he suavely runs a hand through his hair as if it was his intention all along, and throws her a charming smile. The slight concern that may have colored her gaze moments prior immediately falls away when she huffs and rejoins her friends' conversation, promptly ignoring him.

James pouts again. "Why does she always have to look over _right_ when you start in with your abuse?" he bemoans, and goes back to rubbing his head, which is still stinging.

"Abuse?" Sirius repeats incredulously, and then pauses, shrugs, and waves the word away as he says, "Anyway, you should be thanking me. I swear I just saw Lily look at you with – dare I say it? – _concern." _

At this, James immediately perks up to shoot another glance over at his lady-love, his eyes gleaming with hope. Suddenly bright-eyed once more, James grins, "Maybe you should abuse me more often, then, Padfoot. We could work this angle."

Sirius rolls his eyes and mutters, "As much as I'd love to, Prongs, I don't fancy being on the receiving end of Lily's fury. She's got a surprisingly impressive right hook."

James nods in agreement. He had witnessed her right hook for himself back in fifth year, when Lily had used it against a group of Slytherins who had been bullying one of the Gryffindor first years. If he hadn't already been head over heels for her at that point, he would've fallen immediately upon catching sight of her punching a Slytherin right in the face without hesitation. Even now, the memory makes him sigh girlishly as he rests his chin on his palm and stares at Lily with mooning eyes.

Remus aims a kick at him from under the table and says, "Snap out of it, Prongs. You're gonna freak her out."

James jerks back from the kick and opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't get the chance to before Peter is saying, "Oh – there's Blair." Though, in actuality, considering that his mouth is stuffed with French Toast (at least he can have _something_ with maple syrup), it comes out sounding more like, "Ohm, feeirs bwair." Fortunately, after seven years of friendship, all the Marauders are well-versed in Peter's various dining languages, and immediately understand what he's trying to say.

Sirius's head snaps up so quickly that he nearly gets whiplash. James turns his head towards the doors of the Great Hall, his recently renewed bright-eyed look getting more gleeful when he catches sight of Vivian Blair walking in front of her usual gaggle of friends. Remus sighs and tries to eat faster, unsure if he really wants to stick around to listen to Sirius crow with joy when he sees her reaction to his latest love poem. Peter, now fully cognizant of what's to come and feeling much better about his sugar consumption for the morning, lifts his head away from his plate for long enough to spear the group of Slytherins with an eager, anticipatory look as he swallows his mouthful of French Toast.

"Ah, just in time," Sirius smirks, referring no doubt to the morning post, which is sure to arrive at any moment now. More students have piled into the Great Hall since their own arrival, and the space is bustling with voices and the clinking of silverware. All four Marauders watch as Vivian takes a seat at the Slytherin table. Her three friends pile in around her, followed by several other younger Slytherin students, who have been hounding Vivian for days now in hopes of hearing more news about her secret admirer. Really, Sirius is doing her a favor here. He hadn't _meant_ to make her more popular. She should be thanking him.

Her three friends, who Sirius knows by name because they are in the same year as him and, besides, one of them is technically his relative, are laughing about something. Vivian joins in as she fixes herself a cup of tea and reaches for some sliced fruit. It's good that she's sitting facing him, because it just means that he'll be able to watch her reaction that much better.

Diagonal from him, Remus dryly says, "You're staring."

Sirius hardly bats an eye. "Of course I'm staring. I don't want to miss anything."

James smirks and drawls, "The post hasn't even come yet. Are you sure you aren't just staring because you think she's drop dead gorgeous?"

Remus muffles a chuckle. Peter looks a bit sick. James grins. Sirius rolls his eyes.

"I'd sooner drop dead _myself_," he snidely tells them, and James bursts out into laughter.

"Ah, touché," James concedes, willing to admit that every once in a while, Sirius does make a half-decent comeback.

Remus shakes his head and says, "You're going to make her suspicious if she catches you watching her like a stalker."

At this, Sirius recoils somewhat and turns to frown at Remus. "I'm not a stalker!" Remus gives him a look, and Sirius quickly demands, _"How_ am I a stalker?"

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have asked. Remus, as usual, has an immediate answer.

"You're always talking about her. You always point her out on the map whenever we're using it. You always want to change the target of our pranks so that it's her instead. You're writing her love poems for no other reason than to get on her nerves – "

"Yes, yes, okay, you can stop now. You're overthinking this and I fail to see why that isn't a good reason to write her love poems."

"It's not a good reason because it's going to backfire on you," Remus informs him in an almost breezy tone, as if this should be common sense and he thinks Sirius is an idiot for not knowing it.

"You're just being a goody-two-shoes prefect."

Unfazed, Remus returns, "No, I'm being logical."

"Fine._ Why_ will it backfire on me, since you obviously know everything?"

Remus raises an eyebrow. James leans in, resting his chin on his palm and watching the back and forth conversation as if it's a Quidditch match. Peter has stopped eating to instead stare at his friends quizzically, looking equally as invested to hear Remus's response as Sirius is.

"Should I tell him, or should you, Prongs?" Remus asks, and James raises his hands in surrender.

"Oh no, I'm not getting involved in this!"

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Have you both been gossiping about me behind my back?" he asks suspiciously, though doesn't seem all that concerned about the prospect.

James laughs. "Padfoot, we _always_ gossip about you. You're just so gossip-worthy."

Sirius smirks and buffs his nails on his robes dramatically as he shrugs, "I know, I _am_ pretty amazing."

James snorts. Peter nods agreeably. Remus rolls his eyes.

"Anyway, this is going to backfire on you because once Vivian finds out that it's you sending her those letters, there are two potential outcomes that will most likely occur, and neither one of them is good."

Sirius tilts his head at this and drawls, "Okay. Assuming that she's smart enough to connect the dots – which she _isn't_ – and that she does end up finding out that it's me – which she _won't_ – what are these two outcomes, Moony?"

Remus shrugs and explains, "The first one is that she'll become so furious that she'll hex you so thoroughly, you'll be in the hospital wing for weeks."

At this, Sirius shifts a bit in his seat, clearly envisioning this likely turn of events and recalling, with sudden clarity, the dictionary of hexes that Vivian is always carrying around with her like some insane Slytherin villain.

James nods, apparently being able to envision this possibility pretty clearly, too. "What's the second outcome?" he wonders, lifting his mug of coffee to take a sip.

Remus shrugs. "The second outcome is that she ends up heartbroken because she thought that someone who actually cares about her is sending her those letters. Sirius ends up feeling guilty about it all because underneath his womanizing façade, he actually does have a small shred of humanity, and a part of him must know that playing around with someone's heart like this is a really awful idea. Also, she'll probably end up hexing you to kingdom come either way."

Sirius pauses, staring at Remus. Remus stares back, waiting. He has to wait for several moments, but once Sirius turns his eyes to James, the pair of them both burst out into laughter as if Remus's words are the most hilarious thing they've ever heard.

"Guilty?" Sirius guffaws, wrapping an arm around his stomach and he leans forward.

"Shred of humanity?" James crows, and nearly spills his mug of coffee when his elbow knocks into it.

Sirius's laughter stops at this, and he turns to glower at James. "Oi! I've got _at least _a shred of humanity! I reckon I've got a _few_ shreds!"

Maybe it's the words themselves – maybe the adamant way he voices them – but it makes James keel over with renewed laughter and even Remus lets out a few chuckles, even though he's a bit ruffled that no one is taking his two potential outcomes to heart. He isn't necessarily surprised by this, though. Honestly, neither James or Sirius take anything to heart – well, except perhaps Lily Evans and the general population of females at Hogwarts, respectively. Oh, and Quidditch, for the both of them.

"Would you all keep it down over there?" Lily snidely demands a few seats away. She leans over the table a bit so that she can see them around their fellow Gryffindors, and frowns, "We all know that Sirius has _no_ humanity – you don't need to be so loud about it as if it's some great shock or something!"

The Marauders all turn to stare at Lily with gaping mouths, their laughter suddenly disappearing. Lily just rolls her eyes and leans back, having said her piece.

Remus grabs his goblet of pumpkin juice and nearly slams it against his mouth to hide his wide grin. Peter tilts his head as if weighing Sirius's personality and searching for some silver lining of character that might put this whole conversation into perspective. James is staring at Lily with extremely worshipful eyes, apparently thinking even more highly of her after her unknowing contribution to their favorite hobby (harping on Sirius, that is). Sirius's mouth is still hanging open, clearly not expecting such staunch words and not knowing what to say in response to them.

His speechlessness is what really tips James over the edge again, and he bursts out into more laughter. He's soon laughing so hard that his face turns bright red, and not even the frustrated glance Lily sends him can put an end to it. Much to Sirius's frustration, Remus isn't far behind, and can't stop himself from joining in with James's laughter. Even Peter lets out a few chuckles, apparently also finding this situation to be genuinely amusing. The fact that he pushes away his plate of breakfast in favor of chuckling is a telltale sign.

Sirius splutters, "Hey – stop laughing – this isn't funny - !" But then the morning post saves him from having to take further action, and luckily, the sight of the owls swooping into the Great Hall is enough to put a stopper on his friends' amusement at his own expense.

"Oh, here they are!" James straightens up, looking entirely unapologetic as he lifts his head to watch the owls begin dropping an assortment of letters and packages on their marks. The Marauders turns back to the Slytherin table just in time to witness an owl swoop down to deposit an envelope right into Vivian Blair's plate of sliced fruit – but then, before they can remark on their excitement, another owl flies over her and drops a second letter, and they frown.

"Which one is mine?" Sirius murmurs, straining his neck to see which envelope looks familiar. Unfortunately, they're both the same blank off-white parchment, and as Vivian casually opens the first one, they don't know if it's Sirius's love poem or the other correspondence.

"You couldn't have picked a better morning?" James hisses at him beneath his breath, also straining to catch sight of her.

Sirius nudges him to make him shut up and mutters, "Well how would I know that Blair is actually popular enough to get multiple letters in one day?"

James, evidently not having a response to this, remains silent.

They all watch as Vivian's eyes scan the contents of the letter, on the edge of their seats. Well, James and Sirius are. Peter looks curious, but he's also preoccupied with resuming his task of finishing off his second helping of bacon. As for Remus, he's scarfing down the last of his breakfast and preparing to head off to the library, still on the fence about whether he wants to stick around to witness Vivian's reaction to the latest love poem or not.

Apparently, he doesn't have time to make a final decision, because it becomes rather clear some moments later that the first letter Vivian has opened is indeed the poem. This becomes apparent when she raises her eyebrows, peers around the Great Hall suspiciously, and scowls with such vehemence that she looks like she's trying to become an angry warthog. (Warts aside – this time.) If that isn't enough of an indication, the way she promptly crumples the letter up in her fist, holds it in front of her, and sets it on fire with a nonverbal spell is pretty telling.

"She's burning my love poem!" Sirius cries, aghast, and James elbows him hard when a few heads turn in their direction. Sirius realizes this, clears his throat, and then lowers his voice to complain, "Prongs, she's – "

"Yes, I know what she's doing, Padfoot. I'm literally watching it happen," James replies.

"Why do you care if she's burning your poem? Feeling guilty?" Remus inquires, though he doesn't actually believe that this is the case. He isn't stupid enough to think that Sirius is upset because he's managed to find that shred of humanity he'd been going on about before.

Sirius ignores that last bit and merely scowls, "It took me _days_ to write that!"

"And nights," Peter adds, recalling the late evenings spent trying to get some sleep but not being able to, because Sirius was either cackling madly from his bed or angrily muttering about it 'not being quite right'.

"I spent precious time crafting such a unique and ardent letter, and she goes and burns it!" Sirius mutters, sounding both incredulous and annoyed. "A girl like her should be _thankful_ that someone thinks so highly of her."

James raises an eyebrow at him.

Sirius scowls deeper and shoves him a bit as he hastily adds, "I _don't actually think highly_ of her, Prongs – it's a _prank."_

James opens his mouth to drawl out what will probably be a very dry and sarcastic response, but before he can manage to form the words, Peter is suddenly saying, "Her friend snatched it! Look! It's not burning now, Padfoot."

As one, all four of them turn to watch one of her friends waving the letter in the air, evidently having put the fire out upon realizing what it is. The entire thing is smoking a bit and looks charred even from where they're sitting, but apparently it's still legible enough to read because the girl who had grabbed it is currently cooing loudly and has stopped waving her hand at the smoking letter to instead wave her hand at her face. They vaguely hear her say something about being 'so lucky, Vivian!', and Sirius's dramatic reaction melts into a satisfied smirk. He leans back, crosses his arms, and nods happily.

"And that's how you woo a girl, gentlemen," he says, puffing out his chest.

Remus dryly says, "I thought you weren't trying to woo Vivian – "

"I'm not trying to woo Vivian Blair, Moony!" Sirius snaps, and then immediately glances over at Lily to ensure that she hadn't heard him and isn't about to repeat his words again, like the last time they'd had this conversation. Once he decides that the coast is clear, he turns back to Remus to add, "Besides, I was talking about the other one. Blair's got a chunk of ice for a heart. She's more annoyed than wooed. Look at her face!"

They all glance back to do just that, and all start snickering when they see Vivian's displeased expression.

"She looks like she swallowed something nasty," James snorts.

"She clearly knows that something is amiss. No one writes love poems anymore. You're several centuries off, Padfoot," Remus says.

"She probably just doesn't want to admit that it was a good poem," Peter shrugs.

Sirius throws an arm over Peter's shoulders and nods, "I think you're right, Wormtail! It was a really good one, wasn't it? Full of romantic sludge. I have a true silver tongue."

Remus sighs. "Just remember what I said about those outcomes, Padfoot."

As expected, Sirius waves his words away, and Remus just sighs again as he collects his bookbag and stands up.

"Here's what's _actually_ going to happen," Sirius says as Remus swings the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "She won't be swayed by any of these poems because she's a bitchy ice princess. I won't end up feeling guilty or questioning my humanity because nothing bad will happen. I'm gonna prove to you all that Vivian Blair doesn't even have a heart."

He nods, smirking widely as he watches Vivian try to set the letter on fire again, only for her friend to safeguard it by stuffing it into her bag and zipping away from the Slytherin table. The way Vivian immediately growls, grabs her things, and goes after her is greatly amusing to him, mainly because she nearly trips in her haste to get up.

James doesn't look overly concerned about Sirius's rather callous words. Peter doesn't either. But Remus – well, he knows very well that there's nothing he can do to make Sirius listen to him when he doesn't want to, but he can't help but think that this entire prank is more than a little cruel. After all, even a Slytherin like Vivian Blair has a heart, right?

Right. And though Sirius doesn't know it yet, he will not succeed in proving that she doesn't. If anything, he'll prove that she very much _does_ have a heart, and more than that, he'll prove that he does, too.

Oh, but he is playing with Fate, and Fate doesn't like to be manipulated. When it deems that it is being exploited, it has the tendency of overturning every single plan that has been laid down. When it feels wronged, it will ensure that is has justice. When someone tries to wield it for their own gain, it bites back with a vengeance.

The only problem is that in this particular case, said vengeance is a little too encompassing to get into quite yet. No – Fate will step in later, when the hardest lesson must be learned; when the shades of black and white are not so firmly set in place, but rather scattered to the winds in a myriad of grays.

Later, it whispers, when Sirius Black and Vivian Blair begin to truly realize that they indeed have hearts, and that they beat for each other.

* * *

Jane Austen once wrote, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." It doesn't matter how many centuries have passed since the muggle authoress penned her first novel. This truth stills exists, at least in her world.

After wrangling the charred love poem back from Rosalind and shoving it into the bottommost corner of her bookbag (in hopes that it will crush the soul of whoever has sent it to her), Vivian escapes to the Quidditch pitch before classes start. It is only once she settles herself on the first row in the stands that she pulls out the second letter she had received during breakfast, and stares down at the familiar penmanship of her mother.

She reads it quietly and with a neutral expression. Her poker face is firmly in place as she gets to the end of the parchment and silently tucks it into the cover of her book. _'A Dictionary of Hexes, Vol III'_ boldly peers up at her from her lap, until she opens it and flips to chapter eight, where she had left off last night.

Mr. Darcy, though in possession of a good fortune, is currently _not_ in want of a wife – or, indeed, at least in terms of choosing one from the pool of existing possibilities. He turns his nose down on them all, including the woman that he will one day marry. If only Vivian could find a man like that, who would appease her parent's ideals in all ways but not cater to them. Someone who is able to stand firm in his applications – who is, perhaps, willful and strong-tempered in fault, but beneath the surface possesses a kinder heart, a gentler soul, that adds strength to his demeanor. She could not claim to be like Elizabeth Bennet, who is so witty and sure of herself, but she wouldn't mind if a man like Mr. Darcy existed in the man she will end up marrying.

Her mind is a whirlwind, and she flips back to the front cover of the book to stare remorsefully down at the folded letter. She needn't reopen it to recall its contents. The words painted upon the parchment with her mother's usual metallic grey ink burns through her mind's eye even now.

"…_several options that your father and I are considering. You would do well to get to know some of your classmates better, Vivian. One of them might just end up becoming your husband…"_

"_Among them, we are currently considering Theodore Avery and Adrian Mulciber. They come from wonderful families and…"_

"…_would make for a respectable connection…"_

A respectable connection.

Vivian isn't stupid. She's been groomed for marriage since the day she was born. She's been expecting to marry for social reasons over romantic connections. Love does not exist in her world. If she is lucky, she will grow to love her husband, but if she does indeed get paired off with either Avery or Mulciber, she very much doubts that love will ever factor into it. With a bracing shiver, she morbidly realizes that, if this is to be her fate, she would be _lucky_ to maintain even just a small part of herself.

She would have to get rid of any connection she has with the muggle world, which means her secret muggle book collection and any odds and ends picked up during her various, also secret, trips into muggle London. The small pile of random things, some of which she doesn't understand the nature of but had thought them to be fascinating, will have to go. Any self-respecting pureblood husband would never allow such curiosities to go unchecked.

She would have to cast off any lingering ties she has to that world, both in terms of the physical as well as the mental. At the very least, she would have to pretend to hate muggles and muggleborns just as much as her husband. It may not be strong of character, but aligning herself in such a way would be infinitely easier for her in the long run.

Aligning herself – now that is something she has also been groomed for, only for some reason, it suddenly feels so much weightier than it ever has before. Why, Elizabeth would never allow herself to be dictated to in such a way. Fanny, though thrust into a world that innately looked down on her for her poorer birth, would hold herself with dignity and class regardless of it all. Emma would sooner remain unmarried in her own sliver of the world than ever subject herself to the whims of a man.

Why can she not be more like them?

The question spirals through her mind. With every passing moment, it gains momentum, pressing at her from all sides in a suffocating manner. There are so many reasons why she _cannot_ be like them, but suddenly, she can't think of a single one.

She had thrust the charred letter as far into her book bag as she could, with the intention of forgetting about its existence entirely. Yet when she reaches into the bag, she finds it with relative ease, as if it had merely been waiting for her to discover it again. It is not fate, this time, that causes her to carefully pull open the charred edges; rather, it is a strangely eager need to refamiliarize herself with the hastily read lines she had only skimmed before, when she had been only too conscientious of the fact that her secret admirer could have been watching her read the poem from his seat in the Great Hall, wherever that might be.

She does not hastily read it this time. No, this time, she slowly peruses it, mulling over the words with an unhurried keenness; absorbing the message with all the deliberate faculties she possesses.

'_Vivian, your eyes are like little stars that shine,_

_And steal away a part of me I didn't know was there._

_But those eyes hold so much depth that I would be quite bereft,_

_If you released my heart from your gilded silver snare.'_

Her eyes drift over to the small paw that signs off the poem. Once again, she is left confused and bewildered at the odd marking. If she's being honest with herself, it's the entire letter that confuses her, for several reasons.

Firstly, Vivian has always enjoyed reading poetry, and so she is half interested in the verses in front of her (from a scholarly perspective, of course), and half creeped out that said verses are written _for_ her.

Secondly, the presence of this strange dog paw signature annoys her. Why can't she just have a name and be done with it? Why all this secrecy? Why keep her in suspense like this?

And, though she hadn't been fully cognizant of it until now, Vivian realizes that she indeed has been in suspense ever since she had received the first letter some weeks before. She's spent the last few weeks throwing suspicious looks at everyone in her classes and in the Great Hall, wondering who had written her a love poem and why, and how on earth they feel confident enough to liken her to the heavens. She's been _living_ in the suspense, waiting to see if her secret admirer sends another letter. Waiting to see if it had only been a fluke of nature. A one-time thing. A mistake. It isn't until now, as Vivian sits there in the Quidditch stands and gazes down at the parchment, that she realizes what the strange, dull ache in her chest is. It's not disgust at all; it's excitement.

The thought makes her mouth curl up into an incredulous laugh. Is this really an accurate description of what she's feeling? Does receiving a love letter from an unknown person really _excite_ her? It had certainly excited Rosalind, who's been moaning about wishing she had a secret admirer all month long, and Morrigan, who's been prodding Vivian about broom closets and snogging sessions for ages now. There's just something about having someone – anyone – notice her in such a way that makes her stop to consider this. Perhaps it's true. Perhaps she is excited, if only because she's never had a secret admirer before, or even anyone genuinely interested in her. Certainly not interested enough to take the time to craft a poem.

Her smile slips a little, though, when she gazes down into the cover of her book and sees her mother's letter idly sitting there among the pages of it. In light of her recent revelation, the thought of what that letter contains is a heavy reminder that her future does not belong to her in any way that matters. Especially if she ends up marrying Mulciber or Avery.

Well. In times like these, she must ask herself an age old question: what would Elizabeth and Fanny and Emma do, in a situation such as this? All three heroines share a common ground. They all hold themselves with dignity, and do not bend to the whims of predestination.

She glances down at the love poem once more, then carefully folds it back up and slips it into the book with the other letter. Regardless of who admires her, the simple fact that someone does is enough to make her straighten her back out and take in a deep breath.

She can be like Jane Austen's heroines if she makes an effort. Her parents aren't here to witness any of this, after all, and besides that, she's still got a few months of freedom before her life is signed away in matrimony.

If a single man in possession of a good fortune is in want of a wife, good on him, but – what about a single _woman_ in possession of a good fortune? Is she not in want of something, too? And though Vivian does not know, yet, what it is that she truly wants, she does know that it has something to do with exploring this bracing feeling of excitement that burgeons through her chest whenever she thinks of someone admiring her from afar. And it isn't the person himself who makes her excited, but rather the knowledge that perhaps, if only she is courageous enough to try, she might be so bold as to follow her heart instead of her head.

Well there is a relatively simple solution to this. If she can find herself a date for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip at the end of the week, then surely she can navigate around the tempestuous atmosphere of her love life? Like most things do, it merely requires taking that first step. Of course, in her consideration, Vivian does not account for several details:

For every action, there is a reaction. For every success, there is a failure. For every mistake, there is a lesson.

This particular lesson will be one that has long-reaching consequences; such that, as the person she is now, she could never have predicted in her wildest dreams. Nor, indeed, are all of these consequences tempered with happiness, for there is yet another detail that is, for now, lost in the turbulence of her mind:

Happiness is meaningless without first experiencing strife.

* * *

"So, as you can see, I think it's best if we change up the schedule every month or so, just in case any mischief-makers get too used to it," Gavin Clarke says decisively, and throws an edged glance over at Remus and Potter, who are standing on the other side of the empty classroom.

Despite it being a month into term already, none of the prefects fully trust their Head-Boy. His Marauding reputation isn't so easy to get rid of, especially when he's made only a few real efforts to straighten out his act. In his spare time, he's still often seen with Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew, usually with the telltale Marauder's smirk blazing across his face, as if he's about to burst into laughter at some prank or another. Most people who see that expression know to steer clear of him.

In any case, it isn't as if all of the prefects have an actual issue with Potter. It's mainly the Ravenclaws prefects who don't appreciate his blasé approach to what they consider a highly important responsibility. The Hufflepuffs seem to find more amusement than anything else in the Head-Boy. The Gryffindors still apparently find it hilarious that he had even received the badge at all (with only one person who is still _not amused_ at all). As for the Slytherins, well. Vivian's housemates don't care about very many things, lest of all authority. In her house's perspective, being a prefect is really more of an honorary title that can be boasted about at family functions and used to enact revenge against anyone who needs to be put in their place. Potter's position as Head-Boy doesn't matter in the least. She highly doubts that any of her fellow Slytherin prefects would listen to him even if he tried to give them orders anyway. She knows she wouldn't.

"Hand these out, would you Axel?" Gavin asks one of his housemates. As the new schedules are being passed around the group, he says, "As you can see, we'll all be switching around our patrols, that way we each get to patrol different areas of the castle every week."

Vivian raises an eyebrow. She looks down at the parchment that she's just received, searching for her name among the list. When she finds it, she sees that she's been assigned the upper floor this time around, which means that she'll get to hex all the older students who are canoodling in the shadows of the astronomy tower after hours. With a smirk, she folds the parchment and slips it into her robes, eyes gleaming as she thinks about all the possible spells she might use.

"What're you so happy about?" Regulus mutters at her side. He's been assigned the grounds this time, which he isn't looking forward to because the nights have begun to grow colder.

Vivian snickers and mutters, "Astronomy tower."

Ah yes, the one place in Hogwarts in which all the couples seem to frequent after hours, as if they think it is somehow sacred and they won't get into trouble for being out of bed after curfew.

That's really all she needs to say. Regulus snickers back, immediately catching on, and drawls, "Make sure you take as many house points away as you can."

Vivian smirks wider and nods agreeably. The pair of them are wearing matching Slytherin smirks as they idle around and wait for the meeting to end. It certainly makes quite a few of their fellow prefects give them sidelong glances, though nobody dares to ask them what they're so amused about. Well, most of them don't.

"Something funny, Blair?" Potter snarks from across the room, giving her a distrustful glower. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at her, only to quickly rearrange his position when Lily sends him a stern look.

Vivian snorts. "You're whipped, Potter." He looks a tiny bit confused, so she carries on to say, "Evans has you on a leash. It's pathetic."

James gapes at her, mouth falling open in outrage. This time, Lily looks a bit perturbed, too, no doubt because of the way Vivian had linked the pair together. She makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat and shuffles away from Potter, much to his dismay. His grief at her absence only makes him glare at Vivian more fitfully than before, which only further amuses Vivian herself.

Potter barks out a humorless laugh and responds, "At least I don't have a chunk of ice for a heart like you do, Blair. I bet you don't even have a date for the Hogsmeade trip, do you?"

The entire room looks over at her, waiting to hear her response. Vivian has one.

"Please. As if I would subject myself to anyone at this school. Unlike you and your friends, I actually care about my reputation," she breezily informs him, leaning casually against the wall.

James scoffs. "What, you mean your reputation of being a colossal b-"

"James!" Lily hisses. It shuts him up immediately, but not because of her tone of voice.

Mouth dropping open once again, Potter turns to gape at Lily with a shocked expression. Obviously not expecting this response from him, she gives him a weird look as if she's questioning the stability of his mind. He doesn't seem to notice, because he's too focused on –

"You called me James," he sighs dreamily. His shocked expression melts into a boyish grin.

Lily's expression melts into horror.

"What? No I didn't!" she staunchly denies.

"Yes you did."

"No."

"Dearest Lilyflower, love of my life, you absolutely did," Potter beams.

Lily glares at him.

Across the room, Vivian makes a sound as if she's about to be sick, and successfully pulls Potter's attention back to her. His grin leaves his face when he turns back to face her and crosses his arms again, this time holding his position despite the fact that Lily is still glowering at him.

"I bet you wouldn't be able to find yourself a date even if you asked the entire school," Potter snarks. This time, when his grin returns, it's full of dark mischief.

Vivian shrugs, seemingly unconcerned by this bet of his, and merely glances around the room. The other prefects are still watching the back and forth exchange curiously, and with no shortage of wariness, but when Vivian's eyes meet theirs, they turn away quickly. There is only one person who doesn't.

Gavin Clarke is staring at Vivian with a rumpled expression on his face, no doubt brought on by the fact that she and Potter have thoroughly interrupted his Very Important Prefect Meeting, and have overridden the conversation that had been going on prior to their disruption. When Vivian looks over at him, he doesn't turn away. He merely continues to stare at her, looking slightly outraged that he can't continue talking about his perfectly organized patrol schedules.

Vivian raises an eyebrow at him. He's handsome enough, in a gawky sort of way that's mainly due to way his thick-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. He has straight brown hair with a slight touch of amber to it and eyes that Vivian thinks are grey, but can't be entirely sure because 1) she's never cared enough to actually look, and 2) the glasses he's wearing makes it difficult to tell now that she finally _is_ looking.

She tilts her head at him and thinks. She doesn't know if he's muggleborn or not, but she pushes those thoughts out of the way for now to instead consider other things. Like the fact that only that morning, she had made the decision to take charge of her life more than she has in the past. To at least try to create her own destiny, instead of bending to the whims of her parent's wishes. Regardless of the fact that she'll most likely end up following that path anyway, the idea of enjoying her freedom while she still has it is one that invigorates her. And, while Gavin Clarke is definitely not the sort that she would normally be interested in…well.

"Clarke, wanna go to Hogsmeade together?" she asks firmly, and smirks when Gavin immediately starts to splutter in shock. She makes sure to give him a hard look around her smirk though, to ensure that he doesn't refute her words. The Slytherin in her must be top-notch today, because despite the way he's still coughing, and the way his cheeks have turned a bright shade of red, and the fact that he looks like he suddenly wants to be anywhere but here, Gavin doesn't immediately say no.

Potter swivels his head to stare at Gavin with surprised eyes, pauses for all of three seconds, and then bursts out into laughter. It doesn't help Gavin's blushing countenance, which is quick to turn several shades darker.

"Oh my Godric," James cackles, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning backwards on the chair he's occupying. "You've…got to be…kidding…me…!"

At this, Gavin straightens up and snaps, "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Beside Vivian, Regulus bites his tongue to prevent a laugh from spilling over, and nudges her quietly.

"What the hell are you doing, Blair?" he whispers to her, sounding half amused and half conflicted.

Vivian shrugs. "Getting Potter off my back. What else?" Then, in a louder voice, she says, "So, Clarke, I'll meet you at 9 o'clock in the Great Hall on Saturday morning, then?"

Gavin, who is still eyeing James with an offended look, immediately turns to Vivian and opens his mouth. He doesn't say anything, though. His mouth flaps open and closed several times before, at last, he swallows tightly and clears his throat. Potter begins to laugh all over again.

"Oh Merlin," he heaves breathlessly, and shakes his head. Catching Gavin's eye, he says, "Well what's it gonna be, Clarke? Feel like selling your soul to the devil today?"

Vivian rolls her eyes. "Oh shut up, Potter."

Gavin, who is usually bursting with words (often of the authoritative kind), just wags his mouth several more times until he finally settles for a wary nod. He looks several shades paler than he had moments before, no doubt due to the fact that he has just accepted a proposition from Vivian Blair herself. It isn't that Vivian is the most outspoken Slytherin in their year, or even that she's the most popular, but still – she's a _Slytherin,_ and she doesn't have the most stellar of reputations. He's probably afraid that if he says no, he'll get hexed into next week. Vivian doesn't particularly care either way. All she cares about is that Potter is now looking a bit ruffled and perturbed that she's just turned his words around on him.

He looks even more perturbed when Vivian throws him an edged smirk and wonders, "So Potter, do _you_ have a date for Hogsmeade, or has Evans turned you down yet?"

Straightening up indignantly, James glares at her from across the room and grouses, "She didn't turn me down!"

"I guess you haven't asked her then," Vivian immediately responds.

James sends her a frosty glower, turns to face Lily, and starts, "Lily – "

"No," Lily promptly denies, and then proceeds to shrilly say, "This meeting is over then, right? I'll be going." Then she nearly runs from the room as if her robes have caught fire, leaving a disheartened and surly James behind her.

Vivian snorts. James glares. Gavin is still spluttering silently in the corner.

"Ouch. Better luck next time. You clearly need it," Vivian says with no shortage of malicious amusement, and then cuts her eyes over to Gavin. Directing her next words to him, she says, "Don't be late, Clarke. I don't like being kept waiting."

And before either Potter or Clarke can respond, Vivian is swishing from the room, feeling rather proud of herself for two reasons.

The first is that she got to watch Potter get rejected again by his one-sided crush. The second is that she now has a date for Hogsmeade. And while she might not be particularly excited for said date, well, that doesn't really matter. The point of it all is that she had tried. She doesn't have to like Gavin Clarke to go on a date with him. It's not as if she'll end up falling in love with him. A part of her, however romantic, isn't sure she even believes in love.

Such skepticism is in her cloistered heart. There within are shadows and cobwebs. Love is a creature that she has never discovered; a path that she has never embarked upon. She doubts that she ever will.

But oh, how very wrong she is.

* * *

"You're joking. He's joking, right? There's no way that's true."

Remus shrugs unhelpfully, watching Peter search for smooth rocks to skip into the Black Lake. The full moon is coming up and he's starting to feel the effects of it already. His skin is sallow and pale, and his eyes drooping. The other Marauders had thought it might be good for him to get some fresh air, but to be honest, all he wants to do is go collapse into his bed and go to sleep. He isn't in the mood for Sirius's drama, but he's also too tired to do anything about it, and merely sighs.

"He's not joking, Padfoot," Remus replies.

James nods. "Thank you, Moony. I'm being serious, Sirius."

Sirius pauses to give him a little shove, half amused at his play on words but still reeling from the shock from his news.

"Okay, back up a bit," Sirius demands, holding his hands up as he tries to puzzle out the latest drama. "So you're saying that Godric asked Tosspot Clarke out to Hogsmeade this weekend? And he was stupid enough to _accept? _I thought Ravenclaws had more pride than that."

James shrugs, "Yeah, so did I."

Remus inputs, "He was probably afraid to say no."

Sirius snorts. "Well of course he was. Blair would've hexed him if he had." Then, turning to his friends, he leans in to confide, "She's got a dictionary _full_ of curses. Probably has a few forbidden ones in there, too, knowing her."

His friends don't look overly surprised by this revelation. This is Vivian Blair they're talking about, after all.

James stands up to join Peter in his hunt for smooth stones, and says, "What should we do this weekend, anyway? D'you have a date, Padfoot?"

Sirius doesn't always get himself a date for Hogsmeade trips. Many times, the Marauders all go together. They'll spend hours in Zonko's, looking through the new products, concocting master pranks, and turning out their pockets for spare coin to purchase as many things as they can. Remus usually likes to head over to the bookstore for a while, and Peter never goes to Hogsmeade without making a trip to Honeydukes. Once their customary shopping is accounted for, the four of them usually get some lunch at the Three Broomsticks and loiter around for a while before heading back to the castle. However, whenever one of them has a date – usually Sirius – the groups splits up. Sirius gets dragged off with his date for the afternoon, and after the other Marauders are finished with their shopping, they end up making faces at him through the window of Madam Puddifoot's, where he oftentimes gets trapped.

Sirius has no trouble securing himself a date for outings like these, but this time around, he hasn't made a move on anyone in particular. This isn't altogether strange. Sometimes, the Marauders like to go rogue. In his humble opinion, they get far more accomplished when they do (their pranks are legendary when all four of them put their ideas together), but James's question enforces a strange reaction in Sirius this time around.

Puffing his chest out, he promptly proclaims, "I _will_ get a date. If Godric is going with someone, then so am I."

Naturally, his adamant words make all three of his friends turn and stare at him.

"Why do you care if Blair has a date?" Peter questions in confusion. James and Remus seem similarly confused.

"Yeah, who cares about her?" James demands.

"Are you trying to one-up her again?" Remus sighs.

Sirius scoffs, "Obviously! I've got to see what Tosspot Clarke is like on a date, and seeing as they'll probably end up in Puddifoot's because they're both so boring, I can't go with any of _you."_

James raises an eyebrow. "Ah…Clarke, huh?" He turns to send Remus a smirk, and Remus snickers into his sleeve. Peter pauses, then makes a sound in the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like choked laughter.

"Oi! That's crossing a line, Prongs!" Sirius responds with much indignation, and glowers at his friends.

Questioning Sirius's interest in Gavin Clarke is clearly dangerous territory – not that this stops any of the Marauders from delving into said territory.

"It's just a little strange, is all. Your stalker tendencies are getting a bit scary, Padfoot."

"Shut up, Moony."

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't."

Remus, James, and Peter dissolve into snickers. Sirius rolls his eyes. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he shouts, "Hey Marl! Hogsmeade?"

Marlene, who is strutting past with several of her friends, merely sends Sirius a shrugging nod and purrs, "Sure thing, Sirius."

"Brilliant," he says, and nods happily to himself as he leans back against the trunk of the tree they're gathered around.

"She's gonna be pissed if she finds out you're only going on a date with her so you can stalk Blair," Remus informs him.

"Shut _up,_ Moony."

"I'm just say – "

"_Well don't."_


	12. Omnia munda mundis

**Chapter Twelve | Omnia munda mundis**

**[To the pure, all things are pure]**

Sirius Black does not venture into the library unless he's meeting up with someone of the female variety in one of the rarely used sections. So far this year, he's visited the 14th century wizard-goblin wars and the Arthurian history shelves, but sitting down to read any of the selected books was not why he had been there. He'd been a little preoccupied with Priscilla Acton and Diana Churchill, on two separate occasions, to give much thought to the library books that had become the backdrop to said clandestine moments. These sorts of reasons are usually the only ones he has when it comes to venturing into Madam Pince's caustic domain. Usually.

Hogsmeade trips aren't out of the ordinary any more. For the upperclassmen, they occur at least once a month, and oftentimes more than that. What _is_ out of the ordinary (though it seems to be becoming more of a theme than he'd like to admit) is the copious amount of homework being assigned every day in class. Maybe it's merely the fact that it's their NEWT year, because unlike previous years, the teachers have apparently all banded together to give them as many assignments as possible right before the Hogsmeade trip. Sirius thinks it's a conspiracy, personally. Worst of all is that Remus had told him point-blank that he wouldn't help him on any of said assignments. He said it's 'for your own good, so you'll pass your NEWTs with Os', but Sirius suspects that Remus just enjoys crushing his soul every once in a while.

Out of all the Marauders, Remus Lupin has a shocking ability to do exactly that, which is both inspiring in some ways and scary in others. This time, it's just plain annoying, because it means that Sirius actually has to step up and _apply_ himself. (Merlin forbid.)

It isn't that Sirius doesn't do his homework. With Remus as a best friend, it would be impossible to slack off completely. It's just that he's naturally gifted with both intelligence _and_ incredibly magnificent good looks – a powerful combination, to be sure, that he most definitely takes advantage of in pretty much any situation that requires a little extra charm (and many that don't). His ability to skim through his assignments and still manage to get top grades is something that impresses the rest of his friends. He doesn't worry about things as ordinary as schoolwork. _Usually_.

A two foot essay on the dangers of misapplied human transfiguration from McGonagall, a test coming up in Charms before the weekend, another essay for Herbology on the applications of Mimbulus mimbletonia, and an extensive list of further assignments for pretty much all his other classes, which are not quite as drastic but 'no less important' (according to Remus), and 'should still be taken seriously' (also, according to Remus).

So, instead of Marauding with his friends on this fine Wednesday afternoon, or partaking in any of his usual hobbies (broom closets and insulting Slytherins, in no particular order, holding top priority), Sirius Black finds himself being pulled into the library. Not by someone of the female variety, but by Remus bloody Lupin, who keeps sending Sirius stern glances over his shoulder as if he thinks his friend might run off at any moment.

Alas, being best mates with Remus does have its downsides sometimes, but at least he's not the only one who is suffering.

"Take a look at Pince's face!" James hisses gleefully as he trudges behind Sirius. Peter is also with them, and like his two friends, looks none too happy about venturing into the _library_, of all places. As a general rule, the Marauders only ever come in here when they're brewing up some sort of trouble, whether it comes in the form of research for a prank they've got in mind, canoodling near the Arthurian history section, ogling Lily Evans like a creepy stalker, cajoling Slytherins, or purposefully disrupting the silence just to have a bit of fun. Studying is never a reason. Remus is the only one who actually spends time in here for that purpose. Unnatural, if you ask Sirius.

In any case, it's hardly any wonder that Madam Pince's expression has fallen into one of suspicious distrust. The moment she sees all four of the Marauders stepping foot into her empire, she puts her quill down to watch them with hawkish eyes, as if she expects them to immediately ruin the peace and quiet of her domain.

Sirius snorts back a laugh at the sight of her and snickers under his breath, "With that expression, she's just _asking_ to be pranked."

James snickers too, but whispers, "I don't want a detention ruining the Hogsmeade trip. Let's save it for next week, Pads."

"We aren't pranking anyone," Remus hisses to them as he looks for a free table. "We're here to study and do our homework like ordinary students."

"I'm already so bored," Peter bemoans quietly, and Remus sends him a look that would have probably shut him up, had Peter not been looking around at the many bookshelves with an expression on innate distrust, as if he's never seen so many books in all his life and doesn't quite know what to make of it.

Indeed, he isn't the only one who doesn't know what to make of it. The sight of the Marauders in the library is one that brings mixed reactions to pretty much everyone in the vicinity. Their reputation, as always, precedes them. The other students immediately send them wary glances, no doubt expecting a prank of enormous magnitude to disrupt their focus at any minute. It is more than just rare to see them all in here; it's downright dangerous.

Remus leads them all to an empty table in the middle of the room and takes a seat, immediately pulling out several textbooks and a roll of parchment from his bookbag. His friends throw themselves into the other remaining chairs. James kicks his feet up for all of three seconds before he catches sight of Madam Pince's murderous face upon seeing such an injustice, and proceeds to awkwardly clear his throat and shuffle himself back into a somewhat respectable position. It doesn't lessen Pince's suspicious expression, but it does at least make her turn the brunt of her attention back to her parchment – though she still makes a point to cast wary glances at them every few seconds.

"I don't like this," Sirius mutters, watching Remus flip through his Charms textbook to find the chapter relevant to his assignment.

Upon hearing this, Remus promptly sighs. "You haven't even pulled out any of your homework yet, Padfoot."

Sirius frowns and adamantly says. "I can't work in these conditions."

"It's a library. What are you going on about?"

"Pince keeps glaring at us and all I can smell is dusty, rotting parchment."

"If you start your homework, she'll stop glaring at you."

"Fat chance of that! This is Pince we're talking about. Cranky, old, and completely foul – I mean fantastic, with the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen, who doesn't look a day over thirty." Sirius smiles charmingly at Madam Pince, who is suddenly standing over their table with her arms crossed. Her hawkish eyes have narrowed to such a degree that the 'gorgeous blue' is almost impossible to see.

"Voices down, boys. This is a _library,"_ she tells them with a threatening air, and the Marauders all follow Sirius's lead and arrange their faces into their most charming expressions. Peter's, unfortunately, falls flat, and only makes him look like he's got a bad case of poor social skills, which is actually somewhat true.

"Sorry, Madam Pince," James says in his suave voice, which he usually reserves for Lily. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual, and beams, "We're just so excited to get started on our homework today."

Sirius sends him a raised eyebrow. Remus bows his head over his textbook and pretends he's alone. Peter frowns disagreeably. As for Madam Pince, well…

She clears her throat with a righteous _humph_ and sends them all one last suspicious look, but doesn't linger to tell James off for being smart with her. Instead she just sweeps off with a flick of her matronly black robes and returns to her desk, warily watching the Marauders out of the corner of her eye as they pull out their textbooks.

"Merlin, it's such a nice day today," James sighs mournfully, casting a glance at the tall windows that overlook the grounds. He pulls a roll of parchment out of his bag reluctantly, setting up his quill and inkpot with a grievous expression.

Remus rolls his eyes. "I thought you were _so excited_ to start your work, Prongs" he dryly reminds him, and James sighs at him and shakes his head.

As Peter begins to flip through his Transfiguration textbook, Sirius riffles through his bag to find his quill. After several minutes spent searching (and ignoring the fact that he's got two quills handy), he casually leans back to declare in his best library voice (which isn't really a library voice at all), "I've forgotten my quill. Guess that means I need to go borrow one from someone."

The three other Marauders cast unbelieving looks his way, their faces all sharing the same dry, dubious expressions.

"Marlene isn't here, Pads," James tells him.

"We're here to do _homework,_ not hang out with girls," Remus says.

"I've got a spare quill if you want, Padfoot," Peter offers.

Sirius raises his hands, composing his face into a look of forlorn distress, and sighs, "There's nothing for it, gentlemen. I can't properly apply myself until I fix this injustice, and since _none_ of you have any extra writing implements for me to borrow, I'll have to go out and brave the world on my own for a short while."

Peter frowns. "But I just said that I – "

"You're a good friend, Wormtail, but I couldn't ask you to make a sacrifice like that." Sirius cuts in, and sighs again as if this whole situation is terribly inconvenient.

"It isn't a – "

"But never fear, for I see several possible candidates that might have what I'm looking for," Sirius adds, glancing around the library and sending a roguish smile at a group of sixth year Hufflepuff girls who are sitting a few tables away.

James snorts in amusement and leans forward to dramatically say, "Go forth, Padfoot, and do what needs to be done."

Remus sighs, "Don't encourage him, Prongs."

Peter, who has finally caught on after the Hufflepuff girls had begun to giggle at being the center of Sirius's attention, shrugs, "I don't understand your preoccupation with girls, Padfoot."

At this, Sirius informs him, "I'm not interested in just _any_ girl, Wormtail. She's got to be nice to look at, intelligent enough to hold a conversation, with a laugh that doesn't make me want to pull my hair out, who likes Quidditch and – has the most evil little smirk I've ever seen…"

James, Remus, and Peter all raise their eyebrows in confusion and frown at him. Until, of course, they realize who Sirius is now staring at.

"Oh no – you are not going to cause trouble right now or we'll all be kicked out," Remus says, glancing over at Madam Pince to see if she's watching them still.

James merely snickers and drawls, "So you're saying that you like girls with evil smirks? That's quite a statement, Padfoot."

Sirius shakes his head in confusion and asks, "What? When did I say that?"

"Just now."

"I did not."

"You _just said_ that you're interested in Slytherins."

"Prongs, that is not something to joke about."

"Padfoot, I beg to differ."

"Wait," Peter cuts in, "I thought you hated Slytherins, Padfoot."

"I do, Wormtail."

"But Prongs just said that you just said that you're interested in – "

"I _know_ what Prongs just said. He's being a right arse."

"Oi, I'm only repeating what I heard!"

"Would you all shut up before Pince kicks us out? Merlin – "

"I still need a quill. D'you think Blair's got a spare?"

"Well since you're so _interested_ in Slytherins now, it's only right that you go and ask," James smirks.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "I guess I'll always be interested in giving Slytherins hell, if _that's_ what you mean, Prongs." He sends him a firm glance as he gets up from the table, silently daring him to say anything more on the subject. James lets him off the hook this time and just shrugs and leans back, smirking widely and watching as Sirius starts walking across the library. He's not the only one watching. Madam Pince's eyes follow his every move, narrowed and suspicious.

Vivian is working on an essay when Sirius helps himself to the chair across from her. He sits down casually, as if he's got every right to do so. Vivian doesn't so much as glance up at him as he does, which irritates him a little because he knows that she's aware of his presence. _Everyone_ is aware of Sirius Black.

After a moment of total silence, broken only by the continued scratching of Vivian's quill, Sirius impatiently grumbles, _"Afternoon,_ Godric."

Instead of responding, Vivian merely turns to her textbook, flips a page, and reads a few lines before she turns back to her essay to transcribe the information onto the parchment. Sirius makes a face at her which she sees out of the corner of her eye, but doesn't respond to.

"What're you working on?" Sirius demands. He hates being ignored. Vivian is very much aware of this.

Again, she says nothing.

"Got a spare quill?" he asks.

Silence.

"I would love to kick your chair out from under you and watch you fall to the ground again," Sirius says.

Vivian hums idly.

"Set fire to your essay – "

She keeps writing.

" – or maybe just charm it so that all the work you've done vanishes and you've got to start over…"

Vivian scoffs and finally mutters, "I know you like listening to yourself talk, blood traitor, but I've got work to do. Go hit on one of your bimbos if you need a quill."

Sirius glares at her and shoves his foot out to kick at her chair beneath the table. It startles her enough to make him smirk in gleeful retribution, but unfortunately the chair doesn't topple over like it had during the detention she had given him at the start of school. Even though it had technically been null and void, since she'd given it to him before term had even started, watching her fall on her ass had made up for the torture of her company.

"Oh wait, are you _not_ a bimbo? My mistake," he replies with a mocking cringe.

Vivian glowers at him. "What do you want, Black? _I'm busy."_

Sirius pauses for all of two seconds before blurting out, "Gavin Clarke, huh?" Then he pauses again, because he hadn't expected _those_ words to come out of his mouth. When did coming over here to aggravate her equate to asking about her Hogsmeade date as if they're on speaking terms?

Vivian, apparently, hadn't expected this either. She stops writing to look up at him with a raised eyebrow, gives him a narrowed, surly glance, and sneers, "What the fuck do you care what I do in my spare time?"

Sirius sneers right back, "I don't. I just think it's hilarious that you asked Gavin Tosspot _Clarke_ out to Hogsmeade. On a_ date."_

"I don't care if you think it's funny or not," she growls at him, leaning forward and arranging her expression into her darkest glare.

It doesn't seem to faze him. Then again, Sirius Black grew up around dark glares, so he's got a pretty impressive immunity by now.

"Were the other pureblood Slytherins all tied up? No one left to victimize in your own house?" Sirius snarks, then adds, "That _is_ what you're doing, right? You _do know_ that Clarke is a muggleborn, don't you?"

Vivian pauses upon hearing this, opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her silence is answer enough, and Sirius barks out a laugh that's just a little bit too loud. He doesn't seem to care, and merely snickers, "You _didn't_ know, did you? If you had, you'd never have asked him. You blood purists are all so narrow-minded."

Well, he's right about one thing. Vivian _hadn't_ known that Gavin Clarke is a muggleborn, but in hindsight, it does explain a lot. Namely the fact that Gavin had been so reluctant to agree to her spontaneous proposition the other day. She had merely put it down to house rivalries, assuming that it was her own reputation that had given him pause. It makes much more sense that it's got to do with the blood division. Muggleborns don't just associate themselves with pureblood Slytherins these days, not with the current climate dictating events outside of Hogwarts. It's hardly a secret that many of her Slytherin peers have gotten behind Voldemort's beliefs. It also explains the strange looks she's been receiving from some of said peers.

Sirius looks annoyingly triumphant. He leans back and crosses his arms, peering at her with a wide smirk as he waits for her response. The response he receives, though, isn't what he expects.

Vivian snorts, returns to her essay, and says in a bored, drawling tone, "You know, Black, not everyone in Slytherin hates muggleborns."

He definitely does not expect that.

"Oh come off it," Sirius frowns. "I don't believe that load of shit for one second."

Vivian shrugs. "If you think the fact that Clarke is below me in every way is going to stop me from hanging out with him on Saturday, you're wrong."

"So you admit that you think he's scum because of his blood."

"Are you stupid, or just missing the point on purpose?" she wonders idly, enjoying how her casual insult makes him bristle. "Having pure blood _obviously_ makes me better than him."

Sirius scoffs, "Then why are you going on a date with him?"

"Because I want to, blood traitor. Now shove off."

He glares at her. Vivian glares right back.

"Don't you hate muggleborns like the rest of your shitty house?" he demands, leaning forward and staring her down.

She's not sure why he's so adamant about finding out about her perspective, but he's going to be disappointed with what she says next. Raising a pointed brow, Vivian sneers, "Muggleborns are beneath me. Hatred doesn't factor into it."

It isn't that she hates muggleborns. It isn't that she shares the same beliefs as many others in her house. It isn't even that she thinks that people like her should maintain the purity of her blood lest it get dirtied by lesser witches and wizards. It isn't any of these things, but she'll let Black believe that it is all three.

Oh, and he does. His lips pull back into a disgusted glower, and he scoffs in the back of his throat, as if he can't find the words to properly describe the revulsion he feels. Like a finely tuned twist of destiny settling into its pre-paved tracks, Sirius Black believes it all.

And yet…

It isn't that Vivian Blair hates muggleborns. Her perspective of the world, which so disgusts him, is a byproduct of a greater dimension. It is the world that she has grown into. It is the only world she knows. Shaking oneself free from the chains of childhood indoctrination is not such an easy task. A young mind is pliable and easily filled, and Vivian has never known any other way of living besides the one that has been ingrained into her since birth.

She doesn't hate muggleborns, but muggleborns are beneath her. They do not have the same purity in their magic. They cannot achieve the same success that a pureblood can. Whether they are worthy to be taught at this school is another question entirely. The fact of the matter is that they are not comparable to someone like her. This is the backbone of her perception; the foundation of her youth. This belief has paved her way from the first moment she drew breath up until now, pressed into her from all sides by her parents and her social circles. She has never bothered challenging it, or asking why these beliefs exist, or whether muggleborns are truly substandard wizards or not. She's never had any reason to question the preexisting limitations of her world.

This, precisely, is what makes Vivian Blair so inherently different from Sirius Black.

"I wish you could see yourself from my eyes," Sirius murmurs scathingly to her. "Then maybe you'd realize that _you're_ the inferior one."

Her arrogance is truly repulsive. What's more repulsive is the way Vivian blinks at him in an entirely blasé manner, clearly not believing that his words hold any merit whatsoever. Yes, even more repulsive is the way she sneers, "That's funny, coming from you."

He raises an eyebrow in question, and as Vivian rolls up her essay and tosses it into her bag, she unapologetically sneers, "You're beneath me too_, blood traitor."_

Then, maintaining her cold, sneering air, Vivian stands up and makes her way to the door of the library, more than ready to end this conversation and, with any luck, forget that it had ever occurred in the first place. As if she needs to listen to Sirius fucking Black harp about her beliefs. She half expects him to send a hex her way before she disappears on him, in payback for calling him a blood traitor multiple times, but he doesn't. He doesn't, because his attention has been drawn to something else.

In her haste to leave, she had forgotten something. It is a book – no, a dictionary – filled to the brim with hexes. Only, when Sirius flips it open to the center of it, where a folded piece of paper is marking her spot, he discovers that there is more to this dictionary than meets the eye.

Oh, upon first glance, everything looks normal. He skims over a list of hexes, resting his chin on his palm and flipping through the pages idly.

_Langlock, Levicorpus, Melofors…_

There are quite a few hexes that Sirius doesn't know, actually. Some are more dangerous than others, but he doubts that Vivian Blair would discriminate between a good hex. If he recalls, her go-to one is _Furnunculus_, which is no walk in the park because it involves boils and the target's face. Just the thought of it makes Sirius cringe. He's seen many a wayward student on the receiving end of _that_ hex over the last seven years. Vivian Blair is definitely not as innocent as she likes to pretend to be.

Deciding to look through the book more later, Sirius moves his eyes to the folded bit of paper that is tucked between the parchment and unfolds it. Why his curiosity gets the better of him, he does not know. Perhaps it is, as always, an effort to discover something about Vivian Blair to use against her. Maybe his eagerness to see what lies within the folded parchment is due to the very same general consensus that he has always held himself to whenever it comes to her: to find new aspects of her character to loathe; new fragments of her personality to recoil from. It is almost a game to him, this repulsion. It is the trademark of every single reluctant glance and sneering insult. Another foundation set in place between him and her. But when he opens the parchment that had been tucked inside the dictionary, all he sees are scribbles.

_Evidentir_ _ Evidenter – clearer, easier to focus_

_Transmutare argenti – the illusion of, if not the real thing. How does one transmute permanently?_

_Luxmultere, needs work, try different root_

_Mendacium videre – success, if targeted properly, otherwise backfires_

Scribbles upon scribbles of Latin fill the page, from top to bottom. None of them are recognizable spells that Sirius has seen before, but he assumes that they are, indeed, spells. Is this what she does in her spare time? Mess around with experimental charms? A more pressing question is: where are all the experimental _curses?_ This is Vivian Blair, after all; pureblood Slytherin with a nasty sneer and the evilest glare he's ever seen. Perhaps he's missed something…

He looks again, flipping the page over to find more experimental spells scribbled out in neat, tight cursive. In some places, her writing is more pressed together than in others, as if she had been trying to get her thoughts down before they slipped away from her. It's almost obsessive. It reminds him of the singular madness of a genius mind. Well, 'genius' might be stretching it a bit, but he is slightly (very slightly, in a very minuscule way) impressed.

There are no curses to be found, at least none that jumps out at him, but at the very bottom of the parchment there is one spell that makes him tilt his head in curiosity. It has several forms, as if the experiments hadn't gone quite as planned and needed revising. Said revisions are written out one after all, with check marks or scratches running through them and little notes written up the margins with arrows pointing at their words; madness at its finest.

_Viverati_

_Vivicendi_

_Viveramus_

_Cendi, dium, dius, dia_

Turning his eyes to the hastily scrawled words directly following the final word, Sirius reads:

'_The order is all wrong. Rearrange. End result is weak, at best. Needs a lot of concentration, too.'_

Fate is a strange thing. Sirius Black has absolutely no idea that it is guiding his hand even now, as he tucks the book and parchment into his bag and casts a glance towards the library doors where Vivian Blair had just stormed her way through. Ah, but Fate isn't always silent. It does not always work quietly. Sometimes, it burns with a fire that is not so easily ignored. Sometimes, it is an inferno of purpose.

Others, it is nothing but a pebble on a shore, shifting slightly beneath subtle, peaceful waves.

* * *

"Had fun trying to terrorize Blair?" James wonders as Sirius saunters back to their library table and throws himself into his chair with an expression of supreme satisfaction. Sirius just grins crookedly. His eyes are sparkling with a heavy heaping of devil-may-care mischief, a sight that isn't necessarily out of the ordinary, especially in lieu of his conversation (if one can call it that) with Vivian Blair.

Peter wonders, "Did you find a quill, then?"

Sirius throws an arm around Peter's shoulders and says in a sage voice, "I've found something far better than a quill, Wormtail. Take a look at this!"

He shoves Vivian's list of spells in his face and watches Peter take the scrap of parchment. Peter doesn't seem to know what, exactly, he's holding, and glances up at Sirius with a confused expression. James is quick to snatch the paper and peruse its contents, plucking it right out of Peter's hands.

"_Luxmultere…Mendacium videre…_" He glances over at Sirius and raises an eyebrow. "Are you saying that Blair came up with these?"

Sirius shrugs. "Seems like it. Didn't think she had the intellectual capacity, to be honest. What do you think, Moony?"

Remus takes the parchment curiously. As he glances over the list of Latin, a memory blazes through him. He wonders if this is the parchment that Vivian had been writing on when he'd seen her some weeks ago on patrol, leaning against the edge of the windowsill with the moon as her light source. She'd been diligently scrawling in a book that looks remarkably similar to the one that Sirius is still holding.

Before Remus can say anything, James eagerly says, "You know, some of these spells could prove useful. _Aeternum risus_, for example."

Eternal laughter. Not the sort of hex that Sirius would have expected from a Slytherin like Vivian Blair. It's child's play, in a way. Something far too innocent to do much damage. He would have thought that she'd be more interested in darker things; spells that might draw blood, or bring pain. There are a few of these sorts of lighthearted hexes (if a hex could be considered lighthearted) strewn about the page.

Remus shakes his head and inputs, "She hasn't made any indication of the wand movements, though. I doubt we'd be able to use them."

It's true enough. An incantation is useless without knowing how to move your wand and give it power. Without that, it's just a word. Still…

"Oh come on. We're the Marauders. We can figure it out," Sirius snorts, and then adds, "Besides, this is Godric we're talking about. She's can't have made it _that_ complicated."

Remus looks incredibly unsure. "Either way, if Blair finds out that you've nicked this from her…"

"She practically left it for me to take," Sirius shrugs in response, sounding completely careless about the whole thing, and nudges his 'borrowed' book towards the center of the table as well. "This, too. I told you she carried around a dictionary of curses."

His three friends look over at the dictionary with wary expressions, but said expressions are brought on for different reasons.

"What if it's cursed?" Peter hesitantly wonders, looking unwilling to reach out to study it.

"We'd have known if it was by now, since Sirius has already touched it," James points out, then says, "But there could be some really foul hexes in there. Blair might use one on us if she finds out we have it…"

Remus just murmurs, "She'll definitely come looking for it, if she hasn't already realized that it's gone."

The boys pause and glance back to the doors of the library, as if they expect to see Vivian storming back into it in search of her lost possessions. When nothing happens, though, Sirius just shrugs and drawls, "I'm just keeping it safe for her until I can valiantly return it, is all."

"…Valiantly?" Peter repeats, sounding more than a little skeptical.

Sirius smirks widely, "Once a gentleman, always a gentleman."

Remus snorts, "First of all, since when have _you_ ever been a gentleman? Second of all, if you lot don't keep your voices down, Pince looks like she might murder us."

Again, the boys pause to look over their shoulders, this time at the Head Librarian, who is glowering at them from her desk through narrowed eyes. The sight she makes is truly horrific, but it hardly deters the boys from sending her cheerful, albeit slightly overdone, smiles. James even waves happily, though it only seems to make Madam Pince's eyes even more narrowed.

"I'm heading back to the tower to look this over," Sirius declares, snatching the parchment out of James's hand and tucking it back into the cover of the book. His words definitely inspire the others to follow suit. Even Remus seems to be on the fence as to whether he really wants to stick around. He casts a curious glance at the book that Sirius tucks into his bag, looks back at his half-written essay, and then sighs as he stands up to join his friends. He can always finish the assignment later.

Pince (and the entire room at large) looks relieved to see the Marauders clamoring out of the library. They all give her cheerful goodbyes, slightly louder than necessary and mainly to annoy her one last time, before ducking back into the hallway and starting down the corridor. They take the passageway behind the tapestry depicting a herd of centaurs, hurrying because the thought of running into Blair on her way back to the library is not one they want to see come to fruition. It is only when they reach the Gryffindor common room that they all relax. They stumble into it with a hastiness that makes the other occupants of the room look over at them with wary eyes. There is usually only one reason why all four Marauders would look so eager to return to a safe haven such as the Gryffindor commons, and that reason is one that everyone in their house is quite familiar with.

"Where have you four been?" Lily asks suspiciously as she eyes their harried forms. Her Head Girl badge gleams in the quiet light of the late afternoon sun, in resplendent hues of gold and red. She shoots James a hard look and eyes his own Head Boy badge as if she doesn't think he deserves to wear it.

James immediately opens his mouth to respond to her, but is cut off by Remus when he smoothly says, "We've just come from the library, Lily. Now if you'll excuse us…"

He grabs James's arm to pull him towards the dormitory stairs before James can either 1) make an idiot of himself in front of his lady-love, or 2) accidentally spill their latest secret in the process of being a lovestruck idiot. If Lily Evans found out that they've taken something of Vivian's, regardless that they didn't technically steal it, she would turn them in without hesitation. Remus is quite sure that this whole thing is a terrible idea, but he's always a bit curious to find out more.

James turns to shoot Lily one last grin, his hair mussed and falling into his eyes, before he gets pulled up the stairs and disappears from sight. The boys are quick to pile into their dormitory, throwing their bags carelessly to the side and crowding together on the floor. Sirius drags the book and parchment back out of his bag and splays it down on the rug with a nod.

"So why are we holding onto this instead of giving it back, Padfoot?" Peter asks, leaning forward to read over the scrawled spellwork that litters the page. Remus does too, looking vaguely impressed at the countless charms and incantations.

Sirius leans back against the side of James's bed, near which they are all gathered, and explains, "Because, Wormtail, there are a _ton_ of spells we could use for pranks."

James hums in agreement as he leans over to peruse the list. He's about to point out a few possibilities, being all too willing to brainstorm potential ideas with his mates. Before he can, though, Peter says, "This is a strange book."

They all turn to look over at him. Having had apparently gotten over his fear that the book might be cursed, and having grown bored with the confusing scrawl of Latin, Peter has opened the book on the floor in front of him, laying on his stomach as he flips through its pages. His musing comment had been more of a curious, backhanded statement at best, but when it captures his friends' attention in a way that Peter is rarely able to manage, he straightens out and eagerly explains, "The writing is weird. See?"

He tilts the book towards them, pointing out the oddly uniformed letters and how perfectly they fit together. Sirius makes a confused noise in the back of his throat, for he hadn't caught that when he'd flipped through the book in the library. It is rather strange, though – until Remus frowns, "It reminds me of the books my mum reads."

The boys turn to stare at Remus with baffled expressions.

"But isn't your mum a muggle?" James blurts out.

Remus shrugs, "Yeah."

Sirius snorts, "There must be some other explanation here. We're talking about a book that's clearly about magic and belongs to _Vivian Blair."_

Hater of muggles, those with lesser blood, and of anything that doesn't belong in her high-scale world of elitist purity. And yet, even as he thinks the thought, Sirius's mind flashes back to Vivian's words in the library only a short time ago.

"…_Not everyone in Slytherin hates muggleborns."_

But this is Vivian they're talking about – Slytherin purist who had said herself that she thinks she's better than everyone around her just because she has cleaner blood than them. She had outright admitted this. But then, she had also said that hatred doesn't factor into it. What does that even mean, anyway? How can she think so highly of herself and not hate muggleborns at the same time? How do these beliefs not go hand in hand with one another? After all, his own parents share this view of blood purity, and they also loathe the muggle world for all that it is.

"Something is strange," Sirius mutters, shaking his head as he stares down at the book. Peter flips through it idly, thumbing over the L section of the dictionary, and then flipping to the S section. He looks a little wary about the multiple Dark hexes littering the pages before him, so after a moment of this, he shuts the book and pushes it away from him.

The title glares out at them from the bound leather, its embossed calligraphy curling over the words, _'A Dictionary of Hexes, Vol. I'_.

And just like that, a lightbulb goes off in Sirius's head.

"Volume one?" he muses, and opens the book again to flip to the last page.

_Zamia corporialis_

_Zelotypsie_

_Zephyrus_

"…If this is the first volume, then why does it have the entire alphabet?" Sirius wonders. His mind flashes back to the day they had held Quidditch tryouts, and how Vivian had been reading in the stands when the Gryffindor team had ambled onto the pitch. She'd been reading Volume III. He swears she had.

James, Peter, and Remus frown at this.

"Maybe it's a revised edition," Remus supplies, but he doesn't sound very convinced, especially as he stares down at the very familiar print on the pages. In all his time at Hogwarts, he's never seen a wizard-made book that looks like this.

James tilts his head to the side, looking a bit miffed, and then reaches for his wand. He pauses for only a moment before he waves it over the open book and firmly says, _"Revelio," _and they all lean back a bit as if they're expecting some insane and very Dark curse to shoot out from the pages.

However, quite the opposite happens.

The text immediately rearranges, letters spinning out of their words to join with others, forming new words that hadn't existed before. Suddenly, the entire book is not a dictionary at all.

Baffled, Sirius grabs the book and flips it back to the front. The title, too, has changed. Now, instead, it reads, _'Mansfield Park', _and the author is some woman that Sirius has never heard of.

"Who's Jane Austen? Have you heard of her, Moony?" he asks, looking up at Remus.

Remus purses his mouth and hums, "She sounds familiar…I've heard that name somewhere…"

For the life of him, though, he can't seem to recall where he's heard it, or who authoress is, and the four boys just lean back, looking a bit ruffled at the lack of information.

"…She must be a dark witch," Sirius mutters, and opens the book to see what sort of evil place Mansfield Park is, to have inspired an entire novel to be written about it. His mind races with images of dark witches and wizards doing unnatural and malevolent experiments in the shadows of its corridors.

Instead of an evil account of dark experiments, though, he is met with something far different:

"_You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what — not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees anything like it — but beyond what one fancies might be."_

Sirius raises an eyebrow and flips to another page, searching for the evil incantations that must exist somewhere within this book.

"_Good-humored, unaffected girls, will not do for a man who has been used to sensible women. They are two distinct orders of being."_

He frowns.

"What the hell is this?" he demands, and James reaches out to grab the book.

As he looks through it, James shrugs, "It's some sort of novel, I guess. Does Blair even know how to read?"

Remus rolls his eyes. "Would she _be here_ if she couldn't read? Let me see it."

James passes the book along, looking a bit less interested in it than he had before. Peter does, too. Rather than give the book another thought, the two of them reach for the parchment and look over the spells again, muttering at each other when they see a charm that looks mischievous enough to be worked into a prank.

Sirius, though…

He flips through the book even after his friends give up trying to figure out what it is. With a strangely obsessive fortitude, he delves into it almost eagerly, until he finds that he cannot put it down, for there is something in the verses of it that seems important, and he is struck with the impression that he needs to understand the true nature of it.

Why? He does not know. Perhaps it is little more than a study into Vivian Blair – a way for him to know who she is so as to write better poems for his prank. A desire to find new faults within her to scorn. Perhaps it is only a whim, a miscalculation of human nature. A blunder.

"_Depend upon it, you see but half. You see the evil, but you do not see the consolation. There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere."_

Yes – perhaps it is nothing more than a lapse of fortune rattling on destiny's door.

* * *

"I have _the best_ prank idea," says one James Potter later that evening, when dinner is over and they are all back in the Gryffindor common room.

The Marauders have once again taken over the couch directly in front of the fireplace, which has become their usual spot over the years, so much so that their housemates know better than to make use of it when they are in the vicinity. The fire is crackling merrily in the grate, and despite the fact that all four of the Marauders have their homework out, only Remus and Peter are trying to accomplish any of it. Remus is trying to help Peter with his unfinished D.A.D.A. assignment. Peter is busily leafing through his textbook in search of useful information. Sirius is currently making eyes at Marlene from over the edge of Vivian's 'borrowed' book, which he's been weirdly fascinated with since their discovery earlier that day. When they all hear James, though, they lift their heads to stare at him.

Whenever James Potter gets that look on his face, all bets are off. They know it well by now. The familiar gleam of mischief slices through his brown eyes, to such an extent that it makes his entire countenance shine with unruly light. That, and the fact that he's leaning back with his arms thrown over the back of the couch with a smug grin on his face, is enough to catch all of their attention. The paper that he's holding in his hands certainly presses the matter home.

"Prank?" Peter repeats, looking a little dazed, probably from all the work he's been rushing to finish after procrastinating for so long.

Remus tilts his head curiously and looks over at the paper that James is holding. As for Sirius…

"Well, let's hear it then," he drawls, and snaps the book shut as he turns to James. When trying to get Sirius to pay attention, prank idea always do the trick.

James just smirks wider, slaps the parchment down on the table in front of them, and points to one spell in particular with a proud look blazing through his eyes.

"Remember how we charmed Filch's detention slip back in third year?" he asks.

Peter scrunches his face up as he recalls the incident, and slowly wonders, "You mean the one that made him start dancing the Irish jig the moment we handed it in?"

Sirius laughs aloud at the memory. Remus cracks an amused smile, too. Filch had been dancing through the halls all day until Professor Flitwick had managed to figure out the countercharm and turn him back to normal. They'd gotten two weeks' worth of detentions for it but it was hilarious enough that none of them really minded, especially since it gave them plenty of fodder against Filch for the rest of the year. Whenever they saw him in the hallways, they'd whistle an Irish tune and he'd get so furious that his face would turn a bright and vibrant red.

Anyway –

"That was a good one," Sirius sighs, looking a bit nostalgic.

James just scoffs, "Please. We can do better than that."

The way he says it, as if he already knows exactly how to one-up their old prank, makes them all pause thoughtfully and look over at the experimental spell that James is pointing to.

"You really ought to return Blair's book, after all," James adds, his smirk turning into a full out shit-eating grin as he turns to Sirius.

Remus cracks a little smile and leans back. Oh, he isn't _entirely_ condoning his friends', but they do amuse him from time to time.

Peter gleefully says, "Great idea, Prongs!"

Sirius – well.

With a slow smirk overtaking his face, he murmurs, "I guess it's _her_ fault for coming up with the charm, right?"

And just like that, the Marauders all crowd together to study the spell, and jot down some of the ones that they might be able to use in the future, and for now they forget about the fact that Vivian Blair is reading a book that is rather irregular and very strange.

After all, when you stumble across an anomaly, you don't always know what to do with it. When something doesn't fit into the world that you have always known, it is only natural to disregard it and pretend that it doesn't exist. The only problem is that some things don't like being disregarded. Some things are smaller images of a greater picture.

They don't see that picture yet, though. Not as they one day will.


	13. Ioci causa

**Chapter Thirteen | Ioci causa**

**[For the sake of a joke]**

Vivian is furious. She's beyond furious.

"I knew you were a filthy blood traitor, but I didn't take you for a thief, too," she sneers when she sees the Marauders walking to breakfast the next morning. If the sound of her very irate voice isn't enough to garner their attention, the blood traitor slur definitely is, and Sirius stops in his tracks to turn and stare at her coldly.

"A thief?" he repeats, crossing his arms and sizing her up. Even though Vivian is shorter than him, she strikes an imposing figure in her emerald and black robes, especially with her eyes currently set into a dark glare. Not that the sight instills fear into him. He's quite used to the Slytherin glare, in all its forms.

Vivian's lips curl down. She casts a glower at his friends, as well as the other students who have stopped to witness the confrontation, and steps up to Sirius to hiss, "My book."

Sirius scoffs at her. He doesn't respond at first. Instead, he thoughtfully studies her for a moment before innocently musing, "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Godric."

Vivian narrows her eyes at him. If anyone else was on the receiving end of such a look, they'd surely be running in the opposite direction by now. Unfortunately, Sirius Black has never been overly impressed with her death glares, and just raises an eyebrow at her, appearing for all the world as if she's only serving to amuse him.

Thoroughly annoyed and not caring that they're in a very public place, Vivian just reaches forward to grab the front of his robes. She's stronger than Sirius expects, for when she forcefully pulls him towards her and promptly shoves her wand against his throat, he's actually a little caught off guard by it. His friends are, too. They're quick to pull out their own wands, though.

"My book. Give it back or I'll hex you so badly, girls won't approach you with a ten foot pole," she whispers darkly.

Sirius is…surprised. Well, sort of. He's also pissed off. Still, the surprise that undercuts his anger is rather strong, because even though he's witnessed Vivian threatening other students before, he's never been on the receiving end of this kind of fury from her. Her eyes are so dark, they're almost black. The chocolate brown of them have nearly disappeared entirely, and in its place is a malevolence that should by all rights look completely natural on her, considering that she's a Slytherin pureblood bigot without a conscience.

"I'm offended, Blair," Sirius murmurs back, his voice just as low and as dark as hers. He reaches up to grab her hand and squeezes it painfully. As he searches her eyes for some sign of that pain, he whispers, "You could have just asked."

Then, shoving her off before she can make good on her hex, Sirius reaches into his bag to pull out the book that she's so desperate to get her hands on. She keeps a firm grasp on her wand as she waits, her eyes turning a little confused when he finally locates her lost book and hands it back to her. The reason for her confusion isn't because he has it, though. She'd realized that it was in his possession the moment she'd found that it wasn't in her book bag. The heavy thud of her heart dropping in her chest had been difficult to explain. The thought of someone else having her book – a book written by a muggle, regardless of the many charms she'd put on it to prevent anyone from realizing what it truly is – had brought on a fear like no other.

No, Vivian Blair isn't stupid. She'd known all along that Sirius Black had her book. She isn't confused to find that she'd been right about this. What she's confused about is the _way_ he hands it over to her. He's using a spare bit of parchment to handle the book so that his fingers don't touch it.

"Well take it already," Sirius orders, growing impatient when she doesn't immediately reach for it. Instead, she's staring at the piece of parchment that he's using as a buffer, frowning because something in her gut is telling her that she ought to be careful. This is Sirius Black, after all.

"What did you do to it?" she demands, slipping her wand out of sight as she catches sight of Professor Anderson walking around the corner on his way into the Great Hall. He sends them all a careful look, but apparently doesn't see anything that merits further inspection, as the other Marauders have also tucked their wands away for the time being.

As the professor disappears, Sirius shrugs, "I didn't _do_ anything to it. It's foul, so I don't want to touch it."

Vivian doesn't believe him. That's clear enough when she sneers, "If you've messed with my book, I will ensure that you don't have a free evening for the rest of the school year, blood traitor."

"Oi, don't be rude, Blair," Potter says from behind Sirius, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall and watches the confrontation with a gleeful expression. His eyes are sparkling mischievously behind his spectacles, so much so that Vivian turns her narrowed eyes to him next.

"Stay out of it, Potter," she scorns, and turns back to Sirius with a glare. She doesn't know what him and his ridiculous friends are planning, but it isn't as if she's about to leave without her book. Even though her gut is screaming at her, Vivian reaches forward to snatch it back from him and shove it into her book bag as quickly as she can, hoping that she hadn't just made a mistake.

Nothing happens, though. There are no traces of dungbombs or fireworks; no sign of Peeves on his way to assist the only students that he actually listens to (on occasion); no wayward confirmation that Sirius's reason for not wanting to touch the book had been a lie.

Well, not until she opens her mouth to speak. She's got an insult on the tip of her tongue, ready to be unleashed with all the fury that's been hounding her since realizing that he'd taken her things, but instead of saying what she wants to say…

"I wish I had hair as nice as yours," she blurts out, then pauses, frowns, and watches as Sirius's mouth twitches into the faintest hint of a grin.

He coughs to hide a laugh and says with an impressively straight face, "I get that a lot."

Vivian stares at him. He stares back. Behind him, the other Marauders are making valiant efforts to hide their laughter.

"What the fuck did you – do to make your hair shine like that?" she spits, trying to insult him but not being able to, because the moment the insult is formed, it seems to be backfiring spectacularly.

_Why _is she talking about how shiny his hair is?

Sirius snickers and reaches up to smoothly run a hand through his black waves. He shrugs, and leans in to murmur, "It's a secret, Godric. I can't have everyone going around looking like me, can I?"

Her face is starting to turn red, her anger is that intense.

"That would be a dream come true," she snarls, then stops again because she_ hadn't meant to say that._

This time, Sirius can't help but burst into laughter. The moment he does, his friends can't seem to stop their own laughter from coming forth, and soon, the entire hallway is giving into the amusement of seeing Vivian Blair compliment Sirius Black so thoroughly. It's a sight that no one would have ever expected, after all.

"Oh Merlin, this is great," Potter chokes, nearly collapsing against the wall because he's laughing so hard.

Vivian whirls to face him with a furious, "Your voice is an angel's song, James."

Then she snaps her mouth shut, her face blindingly red, and reaches up to slam her hand over it just in case she spits out another compliment. Her latest one has made Potter collapse entirely, and he's now crouched against the wall, his cheek pressed against the stone as he snorts with laughter. Remus and Peter are laughing too, though not quite as obnoxiously. As for Sirius…

"Don't stop now, Godric – this is the first time I've heard you speak so elegantly!" he crows, reaching forward to grab her wrist.

She wrangles her hand away from him and glares, "I'll see your angelic face in detention tonight!" Then, shaking now with fury, Vivian hisses, "You're a filthy – gorgeous human being!"

Sirius's eyes widen dramatically. He looks over his shoulder, catches Remus's eye, and crows, "Did you hear that, Moony? I'm _filthy_ gorgeous!"

Remus puts his face in his hands to hide his laughter. Peter collapses against the wall. James lets out a strangled choking sound.

Vivian sends Sirius a formidable glower, turns on her heel, and stalks back to the dungeons, apparently deciding that starving herself and saving what little dignity she has left is better than the embarrassment of venturing into the bustling Great Hall in her current state.

"Thanks for the ideas, by the way, Godric!" Sirius calls as she makes a fearsome exit. He watches her stiffen and gleefully adds, "You might want to be more careful about leaving your experiments lying around in the future."

He's snickering when she turns back around, but Sirius doesn't stick around for much longer. After pulling James to his feet and slapping him on the back to quell his on-going laughter, Sirius starts to make his way to the Great Hall for a hearty, rewarding breakfast.

He makes it three steps before his legs give out and he falls onto the floor, sprawling face-first onto the hard flagstones. His book bag crashes to the ground beside him, spilling its contents in a truly dramatic spectacle, and everyone pauses to stare as the great Marauder moans painfully and pushes himself up onto his elbows to shoot a glare at Vivian.

She just glares right back and mouths, 'blood traitor' at him before shooting him her best Slytherin sneer and disappearing. People jolt away from her as she stalks off, like a parting sea. Her current expression, coupled with the fury that can be felt like a physical force as it reels from her person, is enough to make everyone in the direct vicinity steer clear of her.

If only Sirius fucking Black would do the same, her life might be a little easier.

* * *

No, Vivian is not happy. At all.

"You look dazzling today, Avery," Vivian says when she tries to ask her potions partner to pass the bat wings. The moment the words leave her mouth, she clamps her lips shut, clenches her fists, and glares. Avery looks a bit baffled.

"You think so?" he wonders, and stares at Vivian like she's gone insane. She just glowers back, which only adds to his confusion.

With an annoyed grunt, Vivian grabs the bat wings and upcaps the lid of the jar to portion out a few of them. Avery just watches with a raised eyebrow.

This has been happening all day. She can't even ask simple questions without an infuriating compliment bursting out of her mouth and getting in the way of her intended words. As if it isn't enough that she can't properly insult the Marauders for their latest prank, she also can't inquire after the most basic of things. Thankfully, she's been fairly lucky in that she hasn't been called on in any of her classes yet, but she knows it's just a matter of time. She just hopes that, if she has to make a fool out of herself, she'll be able to do it somewhere away from the Marauders.

"I heard you were pranked, but I've got to say that I don't mind it that much," Avery snickers, and goes to adjust the flame under their cauldron. As he turns it up, he murmurs, "Care to tell me more about my dazzling self?"

Vivian shoots him a scornful look that doesn't faze him at all, and snaps, "It's your eyes. They glow like sapphires in the sunlight."

_Sapphires _in the_ sunlight? _What the_ fuck –_

Avery snorts. His laugh sounds like he's choking. It's a harsh, gravelly mix that makes her cringe. Ah, though she could also be cringing because he's not the only one who had heard her.

The entire Slytherin side of the room turns to send her weird looks. Her housemates had been the last to hear about the prank, having less of a connection to the other houses in the school. Some of them look a bit shocked at her sappy compliment, while others look like they're struggling between amusement and annoyance. That's usually how they feel when one of their own gets pranked by the Marauders. It's always a struggle between wanting to laugh at the one that gets pranked, while simultaneously wanting to throw a hex at the idiotic Gryffindors who had instigated it. Slytherins are a bit backwards like that.

As for herself, Vivian is struggling between wanting to tell them to mind their own damn business while also wanting to remain silent, because she knows that if she opens her mouth, another compliment will spew forth.

Avery is snickering heartily as he grabs the jar of bat wings from Vivian's hands and starts dropping them into the cauldron. Each addition makes the potion turn a shade bluer, but Vivian doesn't turn to check her textbook and ensure that this is correct, because that's when Avery says, "Sapphires, huh? You're so eloquent today, Blair. It's actually making me want to puke."

Vivian glares at him and opens her mouth to tell him off, but then thinks better of it and closes it again. She scoffs to herself, takes the crushed beetle eyes, which are the next ingredient to be added to their potion, and shoves them into his arms with a death glare. Avery doesn't seem overly affected by said glare and merely smirks at her.

Potions class continues in much the same way. Vivian keeps her mouth shut (though it is quite difficult, with Avery as a partner today), until Slughorn finally tells them to bottle their potions and leave them on his desk. She can't get out of there fast enough, and makes sure to remain firmly planted within the sea of other emerald and black robes just in case the Marauders get any more spectacular ideas.

Her act of avoidance works well enough for the first half of the day. Unfortunately, she shares many of the same classes with the Marauders, but she manages to keep to her own house and circumvent any potential situations before they occur. She does a pretty good job of it for a few hours, but it's rather difficult to avoid the Marauders when they don't want to be avoided. They have ways of being in the right place at precisely the right time. Vivian isn't entirely sure how they do it. In this case, however, it's rather difficult to avoid them when they're all waiting to enter the same class.

"Shove over, Prongs. Only the _filthy gorgeous_ can sit here," Sirius announces as he pulls himself up onto the window ledge outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Professor Anderson is still wrapping up his class of second years, so they aren't able to go inside yet. Most of the seventh year students are milling around in the hallway, waiting for the door to open.

Vivian glances over at the newly arrived Marauders with a narrowed look, only to find that Sirius is smirking widely at her from where he's sitting. When their eyes clash, he winks, and she lets out a disgusted sound and promptly looks away.

Potter, who has been pushed over by his friend, looks quite indignant. "Oi! I'm filthy gorgeous! Aren't I filthy gorgeous, Wormtail?"

Vivian rolls her eyes as Pettigrew hurries to agree. Honestly, what is it with those stupid nicknames, anyway?

"Keep it down, Potter. Anderson is still teaching," Lily Evans barks from the other side of the hallway, and Potter immediately turns to send her a suave grin as he pushes a hand through his hair.

"Don't _you_ think I'm filthy gorgeous, Lilyflower?" he wonders, posing dramatically against the window, as if he thinks he's in some ridiculous photo shoot for one of Rosalind's stupid tabloid magazines.

Lily sends him a heated glower and mutters, "Filthy, maybe." Beside her, Marlene McKinnon and a few other Gryffindor girls laugh. James just pouts.

"Oi, Godric! I heard you told Rosier that he'd look good in pink. Is that true?" Sirius crows, much to the amusement of the hallway at large.

Vivian rubs her forehead, feeling a headache coming on, and grabs her wand.

"I wish I could've been a fly on the wall for that – " he begins, until the laughter in the hallway suddenly changes course. Suddenly, people are laughing at him, instead, and Sirius's smirk turns a few shades more baffled.

Of course, he hadn't heard Vivian mutter, _"Rosea capillum,"_ under her breath. His loud voice had effectively covered it up, and it is only when Potter chokes a bit and points at Sirius's hair that he realizes something's gone wrong.

For some bizarre reason that Vivian doesn't really want to know, it seems that Sirius carries around a broken shard of a mirror in his back pocket, for he quickly pulls it out to ogle at his reflection like he thinks it's totally normal, carrying something like that with him. Vivian raises her eyebrows. Her inner suspicions that he's a self-absorbed git only get stronger at the sight of him reaching up to gingerly pat at his hair.

"You look_ great _in pink," Vivian compliments sarcastically.

Sirius gapes at her for all of two seconds before he exclaims, "Change it back!"

Vivian just snorts.

He growls. _No one_ messes with his hair. No one.

"Change it back or I swear to you, I'll do worse than make your robes red and gold, _Godric."_

She just shrugs, unfazed, and breezily replies, "Godric Gryffindor was a great wizard."

Huh. Well, it seems that her compliments are working in her favor at this moment, because they seem to be making Sirius extremely annoyed. Always a good thing, that.

"This is a violation of my – "

"I wish I could pull that look off as well as you can, Black," Vivian cuts in with a smirk.

He growls again and opens his mouth to retaliate, but then the door of the Defense classroom is swinging open and the hallway is being inundated with gawky second year students, who take one look at the Great Sirius Black and start giggling to themselves. Receiving such a response from a group of twelve year olds seems to be a devastating blow for him, because all Sirius can do is sit there gaping at everyone in a wonderfully speechless way.

Conversely, all Vivian can do is snicker.

As the seventh years begin to filter into the classroom, Sirius turns to skewer Vivian with a glare. Just as she's walking past him, he swings his arm out to halt her and leans in to scowl, "This is war, Blair."

Vivian just looks down at his arm as if he's the most disgusting creature she's ever seen and darts around him with a grossed-out look blazing over her face. He definitely doesn't appreciate that, either, and just keeps glaring at her even after she's already ducked into the classroom.

"Ah, don't worry, Padfoot. You _do_ look quite good in pink," James informs him as he, too, sweeps around his figure to enter the classroom.

Peter nods and quickly says, "Yeah, spectacular," though it's fairly clear that he's trying not to laugh.

Remus just shrugs, catches Sirius's eye, and wrinkles his nose. "I dunno. I think it clashes with your skin tone, myself."

Sirius huffs, "Oh shove off, Moony," and pushes past him to find his seat. Remus just shrugs and follows, weaving through the desks to where him and Peter usually sit.

Professor Anderson does a double take at Sirius's bright pink hair and sends him a quizzical look, teetering for a moment between calling him out on the obvious lapse in the dress code and just letting it go because honestly, it's Sirius Black and this is pretty much a normal occurrence. (Him disrupting class in some way, that is.) Evidently, though, it seems that Anderson is in the mood to be a bit more authoritative today, because after a moment of consideration, he says, "I don't know if the pink hair was intentional or not, Mr. Black, but it certainly violates the dress code – "

_"Intentional?_ D'you think I woke up this morning and had a fashion crisis or something?" Sirius cuts in incredulously.

Anderson sends him a weird look, as if he really _does_ think that (Sirius doesn't appreciate it), and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Sirius, but I'll have to take ten points from Gryffindor for your dress code violations. Now, moving on…"

As Anderson starts in with his lecture for the day, Sirius turns in his seat to send Vivian a glare. Vivian just smirks and winks at him, just like he'd done to her in the hallway, and he grits his teeth.

He mouths, 'war,' at her, no doubt to remind her of his warning before they'd entered the classroom, but it doesn't seem to faze her because she just shrugs and turns to face the front of the classroom, unconcerned.

Today's lecture seems to revolve around the sorts of happy memories one should focus on while summoning their Patronus. Vivian makes it through most of the class without saying a single word, but about twenty minutes before class is up, her luck fails her. She was rather hoping that she wouldn't have to spew anymore compliments for now, but apparently fate has other plans.

"Now, let's go around the class and tell everyone about our happiest memories," Professor Anderson says, and puts down his piece of chalk. The sound of it being placed against the chalkboard rail is like a strong thud that rings through Vivian's mind. She swallows tightly.

The class alights into whispers about their memories and how they don't really want to tell everyone what said memories are, but Professor Anderson seems to think that it will be good to hear them.

"You need a particularly strong memory in order to correctly perform this spell," he's telling them as he walks in front of his desk. Leaning against it and crossing his arms, he adds, "Think of this as a pop quiz, of a sort. I'll tell you if you need to work on your memory a bit, and your homework will be to come up with a stronger one, if need be. With the Hogsmeade trip coming up, I'll go easy on you this time around."

Go easy on them? Vivian would rather write a two foot essay than be forced to say a single word right now. Especially when she sees Black nudge Potter a few desks away, throwing her an anticipatory smirk. She shoots him her best Slytherin glare, but judging from the way he winks at her, she knows that it hadn't had much of an effect.

Professor Anderson isn't put off by his unwilling students, despite the fact that he's asking them to share personal information in front of the entire class. Instead, he merely sweeps out a hand and says, "…Gavin, how about you start? What's the memory you've chosen?"

Gavin Clarke stiffens in his seat, still scratching something out onto his parchment. He immediately stops, though, when he hears his name being called, and clears his throat as he hesitantly looks up. Professor Anderson smiles patiently at him and nods, "Ah. Perhaps I should share my own memory first, then?" He pauses and then sighs, "It's a collection of memories, I suppose you could say. The day I met my wife, our wedding day, the birth of my daughter…don't be nervous to share your memory. It might not seem like much to you, but you should never feel embarrassed about your own happiness."

With that, Anderson nods again and turns back to Gavin. If anything, he only looks that much more nervous than he had before, and shifts in his seat awkwardly.

"Hurry up, mudblood," Mulciber crows from the Slytherin side of the room, looking viciously proud of himself even as Anderson turns to him with a solemn, angry expression. Adrian Mulciber, though, doesn't care about much of anything these days – lest of all school.

"Ten points from Slytherin and detention, Mr. Mulciber," Anderson immediately snaps, looking quite ruffled at hearing that slur in his classroom, so easily spoken aloud. Mulciber just shrugs at him carelessly, which only makes Anderson that much angrier. Of course, the other Slytherins don't seem to mind overmuch.

Avery snickers, nudging Mulciber with a proud smile. Lucius Malfoy crosses his arms and smirks over at Gavin, though the Ravenclaw is looking _anywhere_ but at the Slytherins. At Lucius's side, Narcissa's stone-cold face is perfectly flawless, and gives no indication of her being either upset or pleased with the turn of events. Severus Snape, on the other hand…his mouth curves into the slightest of smiles behind the dark curtain of his jet black hair, and he shoots Mulciber a look that makes the other boy smirk right back.

Vivian rolls her eyes. They must feel _so_ accomplished.

As for Anderson, he turns his attention to Mulciber and his gang, and demands, "Since you seem to have so much to say today, Adrian, why don't you start us off with your memory?"

The way he phrases it makes it apparent that this is not a question, but rather an order. Either way, it doesn't faze Mulciber at all.

With a shrug, Mulciber drawls, "Are you quite sure you want to hear what makes me happy, _professor?"_

Vivian, who is sitting two desks behind him, clenches her fist in the folds of her robes. It hardly takes a genius to decipher what Mulciber is getting at. She wonders if he's being serious or just trying to get on Anderson's nerves that much more. Surely he doesn't feel happy to do evil deeds? She isn't sure what sort of evil deeds he's done, or if he's gone as far as it seems, but she doesn't think it's possible to derive happiness from whatever torturous thoughts Mulciber is getting at.

Professor Anderson stares at Mulciber with a hard look in his eyes, unwilling to back down. Some part of him seems to know that there isn't an easy solution to the situation he suddenly finds himself in. Egging Mulciber on could prove to be disastrous, but letting him get away with his attitude could have even worse consequences.

He opens his mouth to respond to the Slytherin, but before he can get so much as a word out, James Potter loudly says, "Aren't you gonna defend your boyfriend, Blair?"

The entire class hushes down, distracted by Potter's sudden question. Everyone seems to look fairly confused by this, save one or two who know what James is talking about. The ones who don't look between James and Vivian in confusion, wondering who her supposed boyfriend is and why she apparently has to defend him. As for Vivian, she just shoots Potter a scathing look and remains firmly silent. She is not going to say anything. If she does, she'll just end up spewing out another compliment.

Anderson frowns, also looking confused, and turns to glance over at her. She doesn't meet his gaze, instead preferring to stare straight ahead as if she's blind to the glances that she's receiving from the other students. A cold mask of indifference blankets over her face like ice.

Until Sirius Black smirks, "Ah, that's right. You're going to Hogsmeade with Clarke this weekend, aren't you? You should really defend your date against the unintelligent trolls you're sitting with."

Across the room, Gavin Clarke looks like he wants to sink into the floor and disappear.

Vivian just looks like she's contemplating the many ways she might murder Sirius Black.

The room bursts into murmurs. Those who hadn't heard the gossip regarding Vivian's impromptu and rather forceful proposition to the muggleborn Ravenclaw now whisper back and forth about how that had possibly happened, and how hadn't they heard about it, and why had Vivian Blair asked Gavin Clarke on a date when she should be more interested in hexing him to kingdom come for his unpure blood. In the midst of it all, Vivian sighs and crosses her arms, appearing for all the world as if she's entirely bored with the whole situation and doesn't give a shit about the fact that she's somehow become the center of attention yet again.

As for Mulciber…

"What the fuck is that blood traitor talking about, Blair?" he demands, turning around in his seat to spear her with a hard look. The harsh words make Professor Anderson bristle at the front of the class, but Mulciber doesn't care.

Vivian clamps her mouth shut. She will not say a word. Those fucking Marauders and their fucking prank…

Mulciber looks like he's about ready to throttle her when she stays silent. He casts a disparaging glare over at Gavin, who is bowed over his desk and pretending to read his textbook. He's not fooling anyone, especially Mulciber, who keeps staring at him even when he addresses Vivian.

"You asked that filth out to Hogsmeade and you call yourself a pureblood?" he sneers, narrowing his eyes at Gavin with deadly intent.

Upon Mulciber's cruel words, the entire class has gone so silent that a pin could drop and they'd all hear it. The other students don't say a single word, and neither does Vivian. She is, however, starting to get pretty pissed.

Gavin Clarke is not filth. He's ten times smarter than Mulciber and his gang combined. In this moment, Vivian doesn't even care that he's a muggleborn. All she cares about his how thoroughly repulsive Adrian Mulciber is.

Lucius Malfoy snorts, "Save it, Mulciber. The old pureblood families are clearly not what they used to be. Blood traitors are everywhere, these days." He casts a glance over at Potter and Black, his gaze lingering half moment longer on Sirius's, before he turns his eyes away as if the mere sight of them is disgusting to him.

Mulciber finally turns to look at Vivian, dragging his gaze away from Gavin so that he can raise an eyebrow at her. Their eyes clash headily, a mixture of sharp hazel and dark blue. Vivian raises her chin and stares him down without blinking.

What does one do when they are confronted with a person like Adrian Mulciber? Vivian knows that she ought to tread carefully. After all, they are both in the same house. There are endless possibilities for him to get her back for any injustice she might cause him, and no safe haven for her to cloister herself away in. Becoming a target on his radar is not a good idea.

And yet…

As Avery nudges Mulciber to mutter something about not causing a scene, Vivian shoots a glance over at Gavin Clarke. He's still staring down at his textbook, shoulders bowed over, hair falling into his eyes. His face is burning red and his fingers are shaking. She doesn't know if it's because he's afraid to be on the receiving end of Mulciber's hatred or because he's just that embarrassed to be in the situation that Vivian herself has put him in. This is, after all, entirely her fault, and yet here she is, remaining silent and letting Gavin Clarke become the source of ridicule.

Jane Austen once wrote, "It isn't what we say or think that defines us, but what we do."

What is defining her in this moment? A vain desire to retain some sense of dignity by remaining silent, so that she won't spew out another compliment? A fear to not cross paths with Mulciber? An indecisive uncertainty regarding how she should present herself as a member of one of the old pureblood families?

Vanity, fear, and indecision. The very things that Vivian Blair would like to cast off.

She looks back at Mulciber. His eyes are glittering into hers, challenging and goading. A hush of quiet once again falls over the class. Professor Anderson shifts a bit and clears his throat, glancing over at the clock. He opens his mouth to break the silence, but before he can, Vivian sets her shoulders back and takes a deep breath.

"Any girl would be lucky to have Gavin Clarke," she blurts out. She doesn't know what words will come forth. These ones, in particular, surprise her a little. They surprise everyone else, too.

The entire Slytherin side of the room turns to stare at her. In fact, the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws all turn as well. Dozens of eyes are upon her, including Professor Anderson, the Marauders, and one Gavin Clarke, who looks utterly speechless. Vivian doesn't look at any of them, though. She keeps her gaze firmly on Mulciber.

"He's ten times the man you'll ever be, Mulciber," she says, eyes flashing coldly as she stares at the hulking Slytherin.

Mulciber clenches his fist. The rest of the class nervously watches as the two Slytherins engage in a very heated death glare. For anyone who has never seen such a sight, it is truly frightening.

Mulciber scoffs out a humorless laugh. "You should shut your mouth, Blair, before I shut it for you."

Vivian curls her mouth into a sneer and leans forward in her desk to respond, but Professor Anderson quickly cuts in to say, "That's _quite_ enough, you two. Adrian, I expect to see you in my office for detention tonight. The rest of you are dismissed."

It's probably just as well that Anderson had interrupted her, because in the heat of the moment, Vivian had forgotten that she's been charmed to only say complimentary things to other people. It's a curious thing, though, how the compliments that she had just uttered hadn't felt forced, like all the others. Her manner of sticking up for Gavin Clarke had come naturally to her. Those words had been truer than any she's spoken for quite a long time.

The class is very relieved at being able to leave the caustic energy of the room. As people make a quick escape, Mulciber throws his shoulder into Vivian's and growls, "Better be careful, Blair. You don't want your father to hear that you're cozying up to a mudblood, do you?"

And, before she can demand to know how on earth he intends on informing her father about this, Mulciber throws her one last edged glare before joining the rest of his gang at the doorway and leaving. Vivian glares after him for a long moment before scoffing to herself and throwing her things into her book bag. She feels eyes on her, and can guess who they belong to. She doesn't wait for the Marauders to approach though. With a hard look sent in their direction, Vivian swings her bag over her shoulder and walks out of the classroom, intent on getting to her Ancient Runes class as quickly as possible.

Before she can, though…

"Blair! Er – Vivian!"

Stiffening, she pauses and glances back to see Gavin Clarke hastening towards her. His face is still blazing and he looks altogether unsure, his eyes darting to and fro as if he's embarrassed to be seen talking to her in public like this. She just raises an eyebrow at him and waits impatiently.

"I…uh. Thanks," he splutters quickly, and then darts away before she can respond, head ducked as he turns the corner.

Vivian stares after him, baffled. She isn't the only one. As she shrugs off Clarke's hasty gratitude and starts for her next class (thankfully devoid of any Marauding idiots), four boys linger outside of Professor Anderson's room and watch her leave.

"Bloody hell," James mutters, kicking the floor.

"That didn't go quite as planned," Sirius mumbles.

"It was pretty cool," Peter says, then clears his throat when his friends glance over at him with disbelief.

Remus sweeps in to save Peter. "I think he just means that we've never seen Blair have a go at one of her housemates before."

Sirius scoffs. As he turns to walk in the direction of the Gryffindor tower, he reminds them, "She only said that because of our prank. She _had_ to compliment Clarke, remember?"

James looks a bit unsure, though. He glances back at the now empty corridor, where Vivian Blair has just disappeared from, and slowly says, "It seemed pretty sincere though."

Sirius, however, is adamant. He runs a hand through his hair and firmly responds, "Nothing about Godric is sincere. Let's just get out of here before Anderson decides to hash out any more detentions. I've already gotten one from Blair."

Remus shrugs, "You sort of deserved that, Padfoot."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's _sort of_ the point, Moony. C'mon."

He doesn't want to think about the way Vivian had stood up to Mulciber. He doesn't want to think about how honest she'd sounded when she had said that Gavin Clarke is ten times the man Adrian Mulciber will ever be. And –

Most of all, he doesn't want to admit that it had been slightly (very slightly) admirable of her.

* * *

As if the gossip about her being pranked by the Marauders isn't enough to make Vivian want to pull her hair out and scream in frustration for all the world to hear, the latest drama involving Gavin and Mulciber is quick to spread through the school. By the time Vivian arrives at her Ancient Runes class, everyone in the class has already heard about the incident, and those who haven't are quickly filled in by their classmates as Vivian strides over to her seat. She hears murmurs of 'Mulciber' and 'that Ravenclaw prefect' as she sits down, but she doesn't give any indication that she'd heard. Her Slytherin ice mask is back on, with a vengeance.

Professor Gwynedd Gillanders, a short and willowy woman of Welsh origin, doesn't seem to know what to make of it. Fortunately, she also doesn't seem to care overmuch for the gossip of her students. There are few things that she does seem to care about, besides wistfully describing her home on the Welsh coast (which happens to be nigh impossible to pronounce) and, of course, the topic of Ancient Runes, of which she is very passionate about.

As the last of the students enter the room, Gillanders pushes her wild coppery hair out of her face and declares, "Dæg, eolhx, cweorð! Who can tell me the name of this alphabet?"

No one raises their hand. Vivian suspects that it's because most of the students are still gossiping about the latest drama. Gillanders looks properly ruffled.

With raised eyebrows, she claps her hands to draw everyone's attention. When all eyes are on her, she loudly says, "I would hate to give out homework so close to a Hogsmeade weekend, so do pay attention. Now…ah, Abrams, what is the name of this alphabet?"

As Abrams, a lanky Hufflepuff sitting near the front, hurries to remember the answer, Vivian leans back in her chair and arranges her quill and ink pot. Ancient Runes happens to be one of her favorite classes, but it isn't for the usual reasons of liking the subject. While she does find the topic to be rather interesting, having always been a bit of an ancient language buff, her main reason for liking this particular class is simple: there are no Marauders to speak of. They'd never taken Ancient Runes, with the exception of Remus. He'd dropped the course for this year, though, which means that Vivian is blissfully alone, with no annoying Gryffindors in her general vicinity. However, as Gillanders turns to the chalkboard to brush them up on their Anglo-Saxon runology and begins to go into specifics regarding its connection to Norse and Viking runes, Vivian realizes that it isn't Gryffindors that she needs to watch out for this time around.

"…dunno what she wants with Gavin, though," she hears someone whisper a few desks away, and glances over at a pair of Ravenclaw girls murmuring quietly together whilst simultaneously taking notes at the speed of light. Their ability to gossip and take accurate notes at the same time would probably have impressed Vivian in any other instance, but not today.

"Isn't it obvious? She's luring him in. She'll hand him over to Mulciber the first chance she gets, mark my words," the other girl hisses back, and they both turn to shoot furtive glances at Vivian. When they realize that Vivian is staring right at them, having obviously heard their remarks, they both turn a shade paler and hurriedly get back to their work without another word.

Vivian snorts loudly enough for them to hear, and sends them a hard look.

"Hmm? Oh, Vivian, did you have the answer?" Gillanders asks, having apparently assumed that the noise she'd made was an attempt to answer whatever question the professor had given.

Vivian pauses. Gillanders is looking at her expectantly, and she just stares back with a blank look on her face before sighing and opening her mouth to say…

"You look incredible in blue, professor." Then she sighs again because she hadn't meant to compliment her, but then again, she's gotten fairly used to it by now.

Professor Gillanders hasn't, though. She raises her eyebrows, glances down at her blue robes, and hums, "Oh well, thank you Vivian. This color reminds me of the ocean around Pwllheli, which is only a stone's throw away from home. Have I ever told you all the story about Eurwyn the Cadwalader? He was born in Pwllheli, you know. Singlehandedly slew the Cath Palug – "

Vivian turns back to send another glower towards the two Ravenclaws, and smirks when she sees that they've ducked their heads in an attempt to pretend like they're busy. She's in the middle of thinking about writing out a rude note and tossing it at them when someone nearby whispers, "Hey – Blair."

Professor Gillanders is still going off on her tangent about Eurwyn the Cadwalader, so Vivian glances over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at the sight of Mauve McCallum, who had been the one to get her attention. She hadn't even realized that Mauve was in this class, but then again, Mauve likes to pretend that she's invisible half the time, and Vivian doesn't go out of her way for others.

"Are you going to practice tonight?" Mauve asks, casting a glance at Gillanders to ensure that they're not going to get in trouble for talking.

Ah. Quidditch practice. Vivian had forgotten that there was one scheduled for tonight. Avery's been brutal lately, always penciling them in for slots after dinner. Why it can't be before dinner is beyond her. Maybe he's just too busy hanging out with Mulciber and his Death Eater wannabe friends.

Vivian shrugs, opens her mouth, and then pauses before gruffly grabbing a bit of parchment to jot down_, 'If I don't, Avery will skin me alive.'_

Sending notes in class is far better than spewing compliments left and right.

Mauve, who is no doubt aware of Vivian's predicament (who isn't?), cringes a bit at this and mutters, "Yeah. I guess you're right."

Vivian shoots her a strange look. She dips her quill back into her ink pot to write, _'Are you skiving, then?'_

"…Well, I was considering it – " Mauve starts, and then hastily adds, "but Avery will probably go on a killing spree if I don't show."

Her choice of words makes Vivian blanch. Mauve blanches too, several moments later. She probably hadn't even realized what she was saying until it had already come out, but the both of them could totally see Avery doing just that.

Mauve clears her throat a bit and mumbles, "I'll see you down there later, I guess."

Vivian blinks at the girl for a moment before shrugging her agreement and turning back to Gillanders, who is just finishing up her story. She can't blame Mauve for wanting to skip practice. Avery's an arse to them all, but he's been especially hard on her. He claims that it's because she's never been on the team before and therefore needs extra work, but it's fairly clear to everyone what Avery's real problem is. Just because he'd accepted Mauve as the new Beater, he still doesn't much like the fact that she's a half blood with a less than stellar background.

"Let's all get out our Spellman's Syllabary and do some translating!" Gillanders tells the class, and Vivian sighs as she reaches to drag her textbook out. She doesn't see Mauve shooting her hesitant looks as she delves into her work. Neither does she hear the two Ravenclaw girls begin to whisper again. She doesn't care. After being the primary target of one Sirius Black for her entire Hogwarts career, Vivian is quite used to being the center of attention.

* * *

"Blair, pass the butter?" Morrigan asks as she loads her plate with dinner. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and copious amounts of gravy are all administered with exacting precision. Vivian eyes it cautiously, wondering how it's possible for someone to eat that much in one sitting.

As she shoves the butter dish towards Morrigan, she drawls, "Have you always had such striking eyes?"

Morrigan glances over at her with a weird expression and snorts, "Are you coming onto me, Blair?"

Vivian rolls her eyes. Morrigan knows full well about the prank that Black and his friends had pulled on her. Most people do, by now.

"Sorry, Morrigan. She's got eyes only for Gavin Clarke," Rosalind snickers as she helps herself to a glass of pumpkin juice.

Vivian shoves her a little more roughly than would be considered friendly, and Rosalind spills half her drink. She sends a chilling scowl at her dormmate, which is promptly returned.

Mention of Gavin Clarke does spark some curious glances to be sent her way, though. Her Slytherin housemates aren't entirely sure what to make of Vivian's supposed interest in the Ravenclaw prefect, especially once it's been through the rumor mills. It doesn't take long for gossip to get around Hogwarts, and this is hardly any different. Despite it only being a matter of hours since the fateful D.A.D.A. class, the entire school already knows about how Vivian had insulted Mulciber and defended Clarke in one fell swoop.

"What's the deal with that, anyway? You didn't even know that Clarke existed until this year," Morrigan wonders, thrusting a handful of napkins at Rosalind with an evil smirk. Rosalind huffs and angrily wipes at her sleeve, which had been the accidental target of the majority of her spilled pumpkin juice.

Vivian snorts, pushes her food around on her plate, and mutters, "Your complexion looks wonderful, Rosalind."

Both Rosalind and Morrigan stop and stare at her, then roll their eyes all at once.

"Forget it. She's not in her right mind to answer complicated questions," Rosalind snarks, clearly still upset about the pumpkin juice incident. Vivian doesn't look like she cares all that much. Morrigan just barks out a laugh and stuffs her face with some Yorkshire pudding, which is oozing with far more gravy than it has any right to.

Vivian turns back to her meal. She's not that hungry. It's been a long day, and it isn't even close to being over yet. She's still got Quidditch practice after dinner, and then after that, she has a detention to oversee. As if her evening isn't already busy enough, now she's got to babysit Sirius Black.

She casts a glance over at the Gryffindor table and glowers at him. He's in the middle of the Marauders, laughing at some joke that Potter had said, with his arm slung around that girl who always clings to his side. Marlene, was it? Vivian glares at him silently, her mind spinning with all the evil things she could make him do tonight for his detention.

Clean the bed pans in the hospital wing? Too standard.

Do her homework for her? He'd probably do a shitty job on purpose just to fail her.

Write lines? Boring…though she could make him insult himself a hundred or so times, which might be amusing for her…she could even get it framed.

"You look like you're contemplating something of great magnitude, Blair," a voice suddenly says to her right, and Vivian jumps a bit when she realizes that Regulus has slid onto the bench beside her. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed him.

He busies himself with piling his plate with food, but casts a glance her way as he reaches for the mashed potatoes. His eyes burn into hers, like dark steel flashing with firelight. He smiles his very quiet, barely-there smile and nods over to the Gryffindor table as he drawls, "Thinking about murdering my brother? Can I help?"

Vivian releases a laugh. She doesn't know if a part of Regulus is being serious or not. His dry humor has always been a questionable thing, but judging from the way his eyes glimmer at her just so with tempered amusement, she figures that he's just joking. She opens her mouth to explain to him that Sirius has a detention and she's trying to decide what to make him do that will get him back for the way he'd used her own experimental charm against her, but she doesn't quite get that far.

Instead of succinctly informing him of her evil ideas thus far, all that manages to come out is a very random, "You're face reminds me of a sculpted Adonis, Regulus."

Regulus's immediate reaction is to cough into the rim of his goblet, from which he had just taken a sip. Vivian's immediate reaction is to groan in annoyance and run her hand through her hair. Morrigan and Rosalind…well. They immediately laugh at her, not that this is surprising.

"Er. Really?" Regulus somehow manages to wonder several moments later, once he clears his throat and grabs a napkin to wipe his mouth. If he'd looked amused before, it is nothing like how he looks now. His eyes are positively gleaming with mirth, so bright and vibrant that Vivian actually has a difficult time looking away from him.

With a smirk, Regulus says, "I guess the rumors are true. You really are complimenting everyone today."

Thinking back on it (and even though she hadn't meant to say it), perhaps his face _does_ remind her of a sculpted Adonis. Sharp cheekbones, a finely arched mouth, an angled jawline and aristocratic features…

Vivian glowers at him and opens her mouth to tell him to stop internally laughing at her, but instead all that comes out is an adamant, "You'd be a very attractive Adonis." Then, eyes widening in horror, she grabs her fork and shoves a forkful of roast beef into her mouth in hopes that it will quell the endless string of compliments that she just can't help but say. Merlin.

Regulus looks like he's a bit conflicted. His eyes flicker over at her, lips twitching just so. She can't tell if he's about to laugh or tell her to shut up. He is very difficult to read, when he wants to be. This time, though…

He seems to have finally decided on his reaction, and it ends up being one that shocks pretty much everyone in the general vicinity. Perhaps it's because he's Regulus Black, and there are very few people in Hogwarts who have ever heard him laugh. Perhaps it's merely that when he does laugh, it's absolutely riveting.

Vivian turns in her seat to stare at him, her mouth dropping open in shock as he bursts into a laughter so great that he has to put down his fork lest he drop it to the floor. His eyes shine with a light that she's never seen before. The way his smile captures his entire face is abruptly striking.

She's not the only one who thinks so. Rosalind and Morrigan stare at him in surprise, as do the other Slytherins who are sitting nearby. And, though none of them realize it, there is someone else, too, whose attention has been captured.

"Is he laughing, or choking?" James wonders over at the Gryffindor table, raising an eyebrow at the scene.

Sirius hums, "It's hard to tell, with him."

Though his voice is light, though, his gaze is not. He narrows his eyes at his brother and then turns to look at Vivian, who is staring at Regulus in a way that Sirius has never seen before. Well actually, that isn't true. He's seen plenty of those types of looks, it's just that he's never seen one on her. Vivian Blair has never given _anyone_ such mooning eyes.

"It's kind of scary," Peter mutters, and shivers before turning back to his food with singular focus.

Remus is probably the only one out of the four of them who is not looking over at the Slytherin table. No, his eyes are trained on something far more fascinating.

Sirius scoffs, glowers, and throws down his fork in favor of grabbing his book bag and standing up. As he does, James looks over at him in surprise and says, "Oi, where're you going? We're in the middle of dinner – "

"I reckon it's time to write another poem, don't you?" Sirius replies, effectively cutting James off as his mouth pulls back into a mischievous grin. James immediately grins back, but Sirius glances over at the Slytherin table, where his brother is still trying to get a handle on his laughter. His grey eyes flash as he takes in the sight, and Remus raises an eyebrow.

If he didn't know better, he'd say that Sirius looks _jealous_. Is such a thing possible? Would Sirius Black actually be jealous that someone else has Vivian's attention? Before the school year had begun, Remus would have adamantly denied such a thought. After all, Sirius Black and Vivian Blair have always hated each other. They've been in a continuous war since first year, and it has only gotten worse as the years have progressed. Sirius loves to hate her, and she loves to hate him.

The thing about love and hate, though, is that they do not like to stay within any line that is drawn to confine them. They cannot be led, or guided, or controlled. If someone tries to, they rebel, and blend together like wisps of smoke moving across a dusky sky, until it is impossible to tell the difference between one and the other.


	14. Ignoti nulla cupido

**Chapter Fourteen | Ignoti nulla cupido**

**[No desire exists for an unknown thing]**

"_My name is Sirius Black, and I'm a womanizing arsehole?"_ Sirius questions, repeating the words as if he can't quite believe that he'd heard her right. From the way Vivian is smirking at him, though, it's clear enough that he has.

With a scoff, he shoves his parchment and quill away and mutters, "I'd ask if you were serious, but that question always seems to backfire on me for some reason."

Vivian barks out a laugh that isn't exactly a laugh, because nothing that comes out of Sirius Black's mouth would ever actually amuse her (or so she thinks in this moment), and leans against the desk at the front of the unused classroom. She'd already _scourgified_ it, lest she get her pristine robes dirty. There had been a thick layer of dust and grim that had settled into the wood, and had probably been there for years.

"Would you rather do some cleaning instead?" Vivian drawls as she crosses her legs and leans back. She blinks over at where Sirius is sitting in one of the creaking, ancient chairs, and raises a flippant eyebrow.

He scowls at her. As he pulls the parchment back towards him, he mumbles, "I'd _rather_ hear you go on about how jealous you are of my hair."

He makes a show of uncapping his inkpot and dipping his quill into it, taking more time than necessary to tap off the excess. Vivian watches in cool disregard, and merely returns, "The charm only lasts a few hours. If you think that any of my spells will help in your childish pranks, you're wrong."

Sirius immediately scoffs, "Well it made a fool out of you all day, so I think it worked rather well, personally."

Their eyes clash, grey to brown, and the glowers that they send each other are severe and encompassing.

Vivian sniffs and haughtily proclaims, "One hundred lines should do it. I've got things to do tonight and they don't include babysitting you until curfew."

In addition to finishing up her Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment on the various Dark creatures that the Patronus charm will ward against, Vivian also has to brush up on her fuþorc runes in case Professor Gillanders makes good on her threat of giving them all a pop quiz. She also has the Delphinus star to chart for Astronomy, and an essay involving the mythology behind it – all due before the weekend. If that isn't enough to exhaust her as it is, she has patrols tonight, too. Honestly, she doesn't even know why Dumbledore thought it was a good idea to make her a prefect. It isn't as if she's a stellar student. Concerning academics, she rarely goes above and beyond what is expected of her. As for the other aspects of her life, well, her social standing is questionable, at best. She's been known to get into altercations with others when pressed, and certainly isn't above throwing a jinx or two at someone just for a bit of fun.

Sirius doesn't look very impressed with the thought of her full schedule. He rolls his eyes and leans over the desk to begin scratching out, _'My name is Sirius Black…'_, and as he does, he grumbles, "What, planning on practicing your curses tonight with your Death Eater friends?"

He expects a snarky response to fly from her lips immediately, or a good verbal lashing and a well-rounded insult. Instead, he receives silence. When Vivian doesn't answer him, Sirius lifts his head to catch her eye, only to find that she's already staring at him. The heaviness of her gaze gives him pause, but only for a moment.

"Have I offended the great Vivian Blair?" Sirius sighs with mocking derision. He stops in the middle of the word 'womanizer' and turns his full attention on the only woman in the general vicinity. That is, if one could even call Vivian a woman. To him, she's more like a heartless ghoul.

"I don't have any Death Eater friends," she tells him after a long moment. Her voice is oddly collected, and a bit graver than he expects. It almost sounds like she's trying to make sure he knows it, as if she's attempting to drill this information into his head. Unfortunately, she seems to have forgotten that Sirius Black has a very thick skull.

He scoffs and finishes writing the word 'womanizer' with a flourish of his quill. As he starts on the word 'arsehole', he mutters, "Could've fooled me. My brother seems to have taken a shine to you."

The abrupt mention of Regulus Black makes Vivian raise an eyebrow. She can only assume that these words are a result of the way Regulus had laughed during dinner only a few hours before. She can't entirely blame Sirius for having noticed. After all, Regulus never laughs, and the sight had certainly caught the attention of more than just the Slytherin table.

"Your brother isn't a Death Eater either, and he's taken a 'shine' to me because we're both prefects," Vivian dryly informs him, before adding, "You've got a hundred lines to write. You'd better hurry up."

Sirius shoots her an annoyed look and starts the second line. He seems to have an aggravating penchant for writing whilst talking though, because even as he loops his quill over the page, he quips, "He's not a Death Eater _yet_. It's only a matter of time."

Vivian has to admit that she never expected to be having _this_ conversation with Sirius. In fact, that he isn't actively insulting her at the moment is rather surprising to her. She contemplates whether she should tell him that he doesn't seem to know his brother very well if he thinks so lowly of him, but then realizes that the silence is rather nice, and that she isn't all that interested in talking to him anyhow. Watching him insult himself a hundred times is far more appealing. So, rather than responding, Vivian just digs around in her school bag for her Ancient Runes homework, figuring that she really should to do something productive tonight. Not that watching Sirius's suffering _isn't,_ but still.

She really ought to know by now, though, that Sirius Black has many talents. The first and foremost being that he is an extraordinary multitasker.

"So did you really say that Avery's eyes are bluer than sapphires?" he drawls as he starts another line, and shoots Vivian a look out of the corner of his eye. When she pauses, his efforts at tempering his smile are enormous.

"Just write your damn lines, Black," Vivian tells him. Her voice is tainted just so with the most alluring hint of aggression. He does enjoy when it's there in her tone. It means that he's well and truly riling her up.

He shrugs. "I mean, I can understand your declaration about me being filthy gorgeous, but complimenting Avery is going a bit too far."

She glowers at him, and he just keeps writing and talking at the same damn time.

"Course, my favorite one was when you bumped into Pete on the way to Transfiguration and told him that he makes you feel like singing. We all enjoyed that one. Except Peter. I think you scarred him."

She grits her teeth.

"And the way you told McGonagall that her hair looked like spun sugar! Merlin, I'm shocked she didn't take house points for that, she looked about ready to freeze you with her eyes."

She grips her wand.

"But – oh scratch that other one. My _real_ favorite was you telling Snivellus that you adored grease." He cracks up at that one, the mere memory nearly tipping his inkpot over his desk from his boisterous laughter.

Vivian pauses, relaxes her grip on her wand, and lifts a hand to scrub at her mouth. The corners of it tilt up. A rogue itch, probably. Sirius doesn't see it. He's a little too preoccupied with trying to continue writing his lines that way he can get the hell out of here and, at the same time, not dying from his laughter.

As he continues writing, he adds, "And Malfoy – Merlin, when you told him that shorter wands are easier to control, that was – that was…are you choking over there?"

The sound of Vivian clearing her throat multiple times makes Sirius glance up, throwing her a weird look. When she composes herself and returns his look with a scowl, he just shrugs. He doesn't seem to notice that her scowl is less deadly than usual, or that her eyes are shining in a way he's never seen before. Sirius Black isn't overly observational concerning things that hold no interest in him – especially ones that he tries very hard _not_ to be interested in – and Vivian Blair is thing of fire and brimstone and all that he steers clear of, usually.

But not tonight.

"Anyway I think my second favorite was when you told my cousin that her hair was the color of Gryffindor gold – "

Vivian snorts again, but this time, it properly captures Sirius's attention, and for a very long moment, he can do nothing but sit there and stare at her. For – the world has suddenly shrunk, and the impossible has happened. Flying pigs and mad cows hold no weight in this moment, for it is a moment that Sirius Black has never before borne witness to.

Vivian Blair – cold, Slytherin pureblood that she is, whose face is almost always composed in a sneer or a frown – is laughing.

She's smiling. At him. Because of what he'd said. Because she'd found it amusing. He's gone and made her _laugh._ And, instead of calling her out on it and making a snide comment about how this is a truly uncommon spectacle, he can only stare at her, because –

Well, it certainly isn't because he thinks that her smile is gorgeous, or that the sound of her laughter is one that makes his heart shake, or that the fact that she's laughing because of what he'd said is stoking his ego in ways it's never been. It's definitely not any of those reasons. No, it must simply be that he's never seen her laugh before, not like this.

But she is. Laughing. Vivian Blair is laughing.

"Are you sure you're not choking?" Sirius blurts out, because he thinks that he ought to say something somewhat mean. That's usually the way of it between them, and he can't go and break character just because _Vivian Blair_ is _laughing_.

The question makes her cough and rearrange her features, her snickering laughter coming to an end as quickly as it had come. She clears her throat, but the barest hint of her smile is still visible in her eyes when she drawls, "The lines, Black. Write them."

He stares at her, baffled, for all of two seconds before leaning back, throwing his quill down, and declaring, "Oh no – you can't just pretend like that didn't happen. You just _laughed_ at what I said. Admit it."

Vivian immediately scowls at him and staunchly says, "I was laughing at _you,_ because you're such a fucking idiot."

Sirius's mouth drops open just a little bit more.

"You were laughing because Slytherins just can't handle a compliment," he corrects her, just as staunchly.

"I was not. And that's such a stupid thing to say."

They glare at each other, and quite abruptly, the lighter atmosphere that had momentarily captured the room drains away. All that's left are Sirius Black and Vivian Blair, sworn enemies.

And then…

"_My name is Sirius Black and I'm a – "_

"Womanizing arsehole, I know," he snaps, and mutters, "And you're pureblood scum."

She snorts and dryly mutters, "Your insults are truly phenomenal, Black. I'm amazed."

He throws himself back into his desk with a glare and picks up his quill with a sneering, "Shut it, Godric."

Vivian just glares right back and then picks up her assignment again, feeling far less amused than she had before. The silence isn't broken again for a quite a while, when Sirius finally writes his last line and tosses the parchment at her with a glower. Vivian scowls at him and grabs it. A glance at the clock hanging on the far wall tells her that they've been at it for about forty-five minutes. Not a very long detention, but she's not complaining. As far as she knows, forty-five minutes alone with Sirius Black is _too_ long.

He doesn't say a word as he grabs his book bag and slings it over his shoulder. Nor does he glance over at her when he twists the doorknob and throws it open. It isn't until he's halfway out the door that he turns back to catch her eye, pausing for a very brief moment to grudgingly say…

"By the way, that thing you did for Clarke today in Defense? It was…good of you. For a Slytherin."

Then he nods, turns, and is out of the door before Vivian can say a single word. Not that she's got one to say. Similar to the way Sirius had stared at her laughing countenance and wondered if she was really her, Vivian stares after him and wonders the same thing. For –

Sirius Black has never said anything kind to her, for any reason, or under any circumstance, and she's half convinced that she had just made it all up in her head.

* * *

So is he.

"Wait – did you compliment her before or _after_ you made her laugh?" James interrogates, leaning on the edge of the couch with a speculative look in his eye. The Gryffindor common room is bustling, not that this is surprising. There's still another hour till curfew and most of the older students are still up and about, laughing with friends or trying to get last minute assignments finished before they call it a night. Though the Marauders have tried to put off doing their own homework for as long as possible, their procrastination has forced most of them to do the same, with the exception of Remus, who usually prioritizes homework before troublemaking unless otherwise necessary, and Sirius, who somehow always manages to get his assignments done in record time. (Remus sometimes suspects that he pays off other students, but only when he's feeling particularly snarky. He knows full well that Sirius is smarter than most people give him credit for.)

Sirius throws James an incredulous look and cries, "I didn't _compliment_ her – Merlin, Prongs, what d'you take me for?"

Over on the armchair, Peter glances up from his Charms essay and frowns, "It sounds like a compliment to me."

Remus nods and, as he scratches out a sentence from the paragraph he's working on, breezily adds, "You said it was 'good of her'. That's definitely a compliment."

James nods and leans back as if this particular case is closed, and grabs his History of Magic textbook to continue reading where he'd left off. It's rather difficult to pay much attention to it, though. Sirius's recollection of his detention is far more enticing than reading through the goblin histories. Especially when Sirius actually said something nice about Vivian Blair – and to her face, no less.

Sirius looks a bit ruffled. Sitting up in his chair, he grouses, "But then I said 'for a Slytherin', meaning that whether or not it's nice depends entirely on context and circumstance."

The other Marauders glance at each other, looking a bit unimpressed. James just smirks.

"Of course, regardless of that, there's a universal way of looking at this, Padfoot."

"…And what way is that, Prongs?"

"That for a Slytherin, Blair's not half bad."

Sirius makes a disgusted face. "She's _twice_ as bad."

Remus scratches out another word and drawls, "Are you sure she knows that? She might think you're in love with her after that stunt." Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at Sirius to watch his reaction.

He looks utterly grossed out. "In _love_ with – Moony, what's wrong with you tonight? Is there a blue moon this month that we didn't know about?"

Remus rolls his eyes. Peter glances at the window to see what stage the moon is in. James snickers.

"There're no blue moons, Pads – only our very logical and currently non-furry friend here, come to grace us with the truth of the matter."

Sirius narrows his eyes at the same time that Remus elbows James, muttering something about keeping his 'furry problem' out of it lest someone overhear. Still, once that's out of the way, Remus quickly adds, "There's nothing wrong with me, Padfoot, but I think there might be something wrong with _you_. I've never heard you say a single good thing about Blair in all the time we've been at Hogwarts."

Sirius pauses. Peter stops doing his work and instead starts doodling on the margins as he listens to the back and forth conversation going on in front of him. James nods agreeably and throws his textbook to the side, deciding to procrastinate some more. Remus keeps working, unbothered by the fact that Sirius is frowning at him.

"That's because there's nothing good to say about her," Sirius says.

"Except for when she stood up to Mulciber," Remus drawls.

"Well she's never done that before."

"At least not in public."

"Are you saying that you've seen her stand up to other Slytherins, Moony?" Sirius sarcastically wonders, obviously not believing such a thing has ever happened in the history of Hogwarts.

Remus pauses and admits, "No." Then he adds, "But she might've."

Sirius rolls his eyes and waves the words away. "But you don't know that she has, therefore your entire argument is meaningless."

James crosses his arms and declares, "He does have a point, Moony. Anyway though – it doesn't matter, because it doesn't change the fact that you complimented Blair right after you made her laugh. Let's talk about that, shall we?" He pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and clears his throat in a mock-authoritative way before questioning, "What, exactly, did you do to make her laugh? Was it purposefully done, or just a fluke? Was it a 'I'm going to hex you laugh', or just one of those flaky girly laughs?"

All three Marauders stare at James as if they think he's gone insane. James just raises an eyebrow and waits.

"Flaky girly laugh?" Peter repeats, expression twisting a bit in contemplation, as if he's trying to imagine such a thing.

Remus focuses on the other part of that sentence. "…An 'I'm going to hex you laugh'?"

James's eyebrows raise higher. "This _is_ Blair we're talking about," he reminds them.

Sirius huffs and mutters, "It wasn't either of those. It was just…a laugh."

At this, James pauses and turns to stare at him. There's something strange in his eyes; some turn of emotion that Sirius can't identify. It makes his eyes gleam with something resembling awareness, but it's impossible to know for sure because then James is smirking, and the strange look passes away into mischief.

"_Just_ a laugh? Well then. Was it a good one?" he wonders. The mirthful edge to his voice makes Sirius narrow his eyes.

Remus purses his mouth to hide a smile and turns back to his assignment.

Peter keeps doodling, but he stops for long enough to say, "That's a weird question, Prongs."

Sirius immediately nods. Adamantly. James just smirks wider, but thankfully doesn't say anything more and merely hums as he turns back to his textbook. His eyes gleam with that strange light again, though, even as he flips the page and starts skimming the words.

As for Sirius…

Well, just to set the record straight, it _wasn't_ a good laugh. It was the worst laugh he's ever heard. It was a _cringeworthy_ laugh.

He glowers at James and snorts before turning to look into the fire. The flames flicker merrily in the hearth, and –

No, they don't remind him of the way her eyes had shone. What a silly thing to think.

* * *

Vivian wouldn't make the claim that she takes her prefect duties seriously. Her parents had been overjoyed when she'd been given the honor, claiming that it was only right for Dumbledore to acknowledge the Blair name in such a way. Her father had been a prefect during his school years, or so he had told her when she'd received her badge over the summer, but Vivian can't really picture him roaming the halls and administering authority over other students. Lukas Blair is a force to the reckoned with, but not the sort of force in whose power is positive. She could more clearly imagine him using his authority for more selfish purposes. That is, after all, what he had taught her as a child.

"_The world will overlook you unless you assert yourself, Vivian,"_ he'd told her once. _"The Blair name has power, but only if you use it."_

She knows that he'd been right, to an extent. She's seen the effect that her name has before, and the way her father yields it. He rarely bows to others, unless doing so falls into some preconceived plan of his. Lukas Blair has a Slytherin mind same as her, and he always gets what he wants. But what does _she_ want?

The answer should be simple. After all, Vivian Blair is a pureblood and an elite. She should want to continue the family legacy – for dignity or power, it matters not – and to make her father proud. She should want to let him lead her, guide her into the life that he thinks would be best for her. She trusts that he will. Lukas Blair would never do anything to harm his family legacy.

With a sigh, Vivian turns the corner, her wand lifted and lighting the dark corridor as she walks the fourth floor. The night has been quiet so far, with no sign of trouble. All the broom closets she's checked have been empty of late-night couples, and there is no sign of any marauding business going on, at least not in the area she's patrolling. She's thankful for that. She's already had enough of the Marauders to last her a lifetime.

The recent detention that had taken place only a few hours before makes her cringe a bit in hindsight. Had she really laughed at something Sirius Black had said? With a scowl firmly in place, Vivian scoffs to herself and raises her wand higher, illuminating the shadows of the long hallway and making the paintings on the wall grouse at her unhappily.

"We're trying to _sleep,_ girl!"

"Just because we're paintings doesn't mean we don't need some rest after dealing with bumbling teenagers all day!"

Vivian rolls her eyes and doesn't respond. She doesn't lower her wand, either, which only makes the paintings grouse all the more as she continues her walk. Honestly, she should just head over to some unused classroom and get more homework done until her patrol is over, but if any of the other prefects found out that she'd ignored her duties, her badge might be taken away. She doesn't care if it is, really, but she does have to admit that it has a few perks that she isn't willing to let go of.

Being able to take house points is something she very much enjoys, as is doling out detentions. Besides, when they'd heard the news, her parents had allowed her to buy her new Silver Arrow. It's one of the fastest brooms on the market as of now, even going head to head with the new Nimbus 1001. She definitely doesn't want to be forced to part with it as punishment for smearing the prefect legacy of her father (or whatever shite he'd most likely spew). Especially what with the bet she'd made with Black.

The bet. She's still regretting it. There's no telling what sort of insane thing he'll make her do if Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup. As for her…well, she has some ideas, and smirks to herself as she rounds another corner –

And then stops, for at the end of the corridor, she sees someone she does not expect.

"Snape? What're you doing out of bed after curfew?" Vivian questions suspiciously, and narrows her eyes at the tall, shadowy figure. She can just barely detect the black curtain of his hair and the sallow, pale skin. He blends into the darkness spectacularly, but the sound of his hard breathing gives him away. Has he been running through the castle?

Severus Snape has had few dealings with Vivian Blair over the years. Vivian keeps to her own business, and he's never had a reason to take much notice of her beyond the obvious (pureblood legacy being in at the forefront). Mulciber occasionally crows about how the Blairs are one of the more powerful wizarding families, but beyond that, Severus knows very little about her.

Two things he does know, however, is that she hates the Marauders and that she doesn't care much for prefects, which is a bit amusing considering she _is_ one.

"Move aside," he mutters at her, his voice little more than a hiss of sound as he pushes past her in the hallway.

Vivian doesn't let him. Her hand darts out to grab the front of his robes, and she hauls him back to face her. The narrowed eyes she sends him might have inspired fear into the hearts of the younger students, but not Severus Snape, who is well acquainted with darkness.

"Let go, Blair, if you know what's good for you," he hisses at her, and reaches up to grab her hand in hopes of twisting it off his robes.

Vivian raises an eyebrow and looks down at him. That is, she doesn't physically look down at him, for he is several inches taller than her, his frame lithe and willowy, his chin lifted up to support the downward curve of his sneer as he sends it hurtling towards her. Their eyes catch, locked into a battle of wills, but Vivian just raises an eyebrow at him, looking unimpressed.

No – she doesn't physically look down at him at all, but Severus Snape can still detect the arrogance in her eyes. She thinks he is below her. It's the same look that many of his so-called friends send him, when they think he doesn't notice. Beneath the haughty eyes is a certain twist of judgment; a measure of shrewdness as a mental comparison takes place. It is a game that Snape knows very well by now, this push and pull of ideologies. It's like watching gears whirring in a machine, back and forth in an endless circuit.

Pureblood vs. Half-Blood. What qualities does he possess, to make up for his lack of blood purity? Are they enough to balance out the clear disadvantages of his circumstances? Do they put him on a level that is comparable to her own? Is he even worth associating with, or will his connections get him nowhere in life?

That is the look that Vivian Blair is currently sending his way, and it's a look that many of her pureblood brethren have mastered, especially concerning him. He is just dirt beneath their shoes.

"…Do you make a habit of running around the halls at night?" she drawls, eyeing him distastefully.

His eyes darken. "My habits are of no concern of _yours," _he hisses, looking very dangerous and very dark.

Vivian stares at him for a long moment, and then she smirks and murmurs, "Did Mulciber teach you to talk like that? Very impressive, Snape. I'll bet he's very proud of his pet."

The word 'pet' has immediate and thunderous repercussions. Snape digs his fingernails into her hand, hard enough to break her hold. He's grabbing his wand moments later and sneering angrily at Vivian, who has retained her smirking expression despite the brief flare of pain in her hand. She's also retained her quick thinking, for the moment Snape draws his wand, so does she.

"I am nobody's _pet,"_ he angrily tells her.

Vivian snorts. "You'll always be a pureblood's pet, Snape. Mulciber and Avery are _using_ you. You want to be accepted so badly that you'd do just about anything for them, and they know it."

His grip tightens on his wand, and he scathingly tells her, "You don't know anything about the world I live in, Blair. Don't pretend as if you do."

Vivian scoffs at him and retorts, "I know _exactly_ what sort of a world you live in."

But Snape only curls his lip and hisses, "After Hogwarts, you'll be little more than a brood mare for some pureblood prat. That's _your_ fate. Don't act like you're some god who knows everything. The only thing you know how to do is bend over and – "

"_Silentium!"_ she barks, throwing a hex his way and smirking widely when the rest of his insult gets cut off immediately. His mouth flaps a bit, but the words that he tries to form are not voiced, and the silence that accompanies it is very satisfying. So is the furious glare he sends her.

"You really ought to be careful, throwing insults around like that," Vivian sneers. "I would've thought you had more sense than to speak to a pureblood in that manner. After all, you do fancy yourself to be one of us, don't you? But you're not, Snape. You'll never be on my level."

His eyes burn into hers, but she isn't afraid of Severus Snape. Some part of her warns her against being too haughty, but the rest of her just scorns the wary voice in the back of her mind and pushes it aside in favor of drawling, "Since you're a Slytherin, I'll let you off with a warning. Go back to the dormitories and stop sulking around in the middle of night. If I catch you again, you'll be sorry."

Oh, yes, she really ought to be more careful, making enemies like this, but Vivian is far too impatient right now to care. The long day she's had presses at her mind, and she wants nothing more than to go to sleep and pretend that the caustic events of the last twelve hours have never happened at all.

Snape seems to have realized that he's better off not picking a fight with a member of his own house after curfew, though his reasons aren't necessarily wholesome. If a teacher hears the ruckus they've been making and comes to investigate, he'll be the one to be punished, not Vivian. As a prefect, Vivian has the right to be here. He does not. But even though he decides to back off this time, it is in a very begrudging manner, for Vivian's sneering words have shifted something within him that is not so easily overlooked.

The harsh desire for revenge rarely is.

Snape sends her one last furious glare before turning on his heel and storming down the hall in the direction of the staircase, eyeing the corridor suspiciously as he goes. Vivian just glowers at his back until he's out of sight, and snorts to herself as she raises her wand back into the air and promptly gets another heaping of complaints.

"Are you trying to _blind_ us, girl?" a cavalier grouses from one of the paintings to her right.

"Oh shut up," she snidely says in return, much to the knight's indignation, and resumes her patrol.

The moment she rounds the corner, though…

"So Padfoot, I'd just like to point out that I was right after all, and take this moment to say: I told you so," Moony whispers from beneath the invisibility cloak.

Padfoot raises an eyebrow. "Huh? Right about what?"

Prongs snorts, "I think Moony's referring to his weak argument that Blair stands up to more Slytherins than just that cow Mulciber."

Moony nods sagely, though it's too dark to see. Beside him, Wormtail looks around as if he's worried that Vivian and Snape are about to make a reappearance.

Padfoot grumbles, "Whatever. Everyone hates Snivellus so it's not that much of a shock. Let's get going already."

Prongs and Moony exchange a look, clearly not very impressed at Padfoot's attempt to brush it all under the rug, but they ultimately don't argue. Soon, all four Marauders are stepping out from under the cloak and consulting the map to ensure that no one is coming towards them.

"Now that Snivelly's stopped following us like the loathsome snake he is, shall we head to the kitchens for some refreshments after a hard day's work?" Prongs dramatically inquires, referring to their latest prank, which involves the hallway just outside the Ravenclaw dormitories and a pile of dungbombs, set to go off bright and early tomorrow morning.

Wormtail nods eagerly. "Some lemon squares sound good right about now."

"The kitchens it is. Let's go, gentlemen," Prongs says agreeably, and holds his hand out to lead the way.

Padfoot pauses, though, and coughs, "Er…you guys go ahead. I'll meet you there. There's something I need to do first."

The other Marauders send him confused looks. Padfoot just shrugs and pulls out a scrap of paper from his pocket, waving it around with a smirk and nodding at the direction that Vivian had just disappeared in.

Moony sighs. Wormtail snickers. Prongs pretends to wipe a tear from his eye.

"My Padfoot's all grown up. Look at him, going off and pranking people all on his own."

Padfoot shoves him a bit and snickers, "Save me a lemon square, Wormtail. Gentlemen, I'll be borrowing this." He slings the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and promptly disappears. Then, wrangling his hand free from the fabric, he salutes them, and the remaining Marauders make weird faces at the odd sight of just his hand floating in the air, seemingly unattached to the rest of his body. Once the hand disappears again, the only way they know that Padfoot has started walking off is due to map, which shows him moving down the corridor to catch up with Blair.

"I still think this is all a terrible idea," Moony hisses as they turn in the other direction.

Prongs shrugs, "Yeah, but Padfoot only learns the hard way."

"What's he trying to learn?" Wormtail questions in confusion, only half listening because he's daydreaming of the sugary goodness of lemon squares and chamomile tea.

"How to fall in love, Wormtail. Padfoot is shite at it," is Prongs's response. It only confuses Wormtail that much more. As for Moony…

"It's going to backfire spectacularly on him."

Prongs just shrugs again and snickers, "Well like I said, he's shite at it."

Wormtail shakes his head and mutters, "But Padfoot _hates_ Blair."

Hate though – it's a relative term; ever changing, always evolving. Or, at least, that's what James would like to believe, seeing as the girl _he's_ in love with seems to feel a lot of it towards him.

James only mumbles, "I'm beginning to wonder if he actually does…", and says no more on the subject. Time will tell if he is right or not. Either way, he's in for a laugh. After all, who ever heard of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin falling in love?

* * *

Speaking of Gryffindors and Slytherins, Vivian is not expecting that the day will have anything _more_ in store for her. She'd already panicked about losing her book, got pranked with her own experimental charm by that blood traitor, is treading on thin ice with many of her house mates as a result of that prank, forwent doing her homework in lieu of having to delegate Black's detention, and now she can't even go to sleep because she still has to finish her patrol.

What else could possibly ruin her day? What more could she possibly –

Quite suddenly, something flutters over her head, and Vivian lets out the most girlish sound she has ever made. It is an unsophisticated mix between a gasp and a squeal, brought into existence because the dark corridors are a little bit _too_ dark, and she's _supposed_ to be alone. She half suspects that Snape had come back around to curse her after all, but when she turns and raises her wand, illuminating the thick shadows of the hallway, she doesn't see anything that makes her wary.

No - it's just a bit of paper, fluttering in the air before her. She raises an eyebrow and looks around the corridor to see if anyone is there. When she doesn't see any signs of life, Vivian turns back to the fluttering parchment and plucks it out of the air curiously. It is as she's opening it that she reckons she should probably be wary about it after all.

Apparently, a lot can happen in the span of twelve hours, and her day is not over yet.

Beneath the light of her wand, she reads:

'_Vivian,_

_It is a broken symphony that rattles through the choir;_

_A sawing tempo's majesty that moves through me like fire._

_It is in every moment and in every clanging beat_

_Of this heart that sings the chorus to that clamorous symphony._

_It is a thing I never knew, a thought I can't convey;_

_This love I feel - it steals my heart and takes my breath away.'_

She immediately frowns, her eyes drawn to the small dog's paw drawn on the lower corner of the page. As always, the paw is the only thing to mark the letter in any significant way – the only clue that she has concerning the identity of her secret admirer, or whatever he truly is. In the last month of school, she's received three poems already, and she's no closer to understanding these letters than she'd been in the beginning.

With a roll of her eyes, Vivian mutters, "This little shit again?", and stuffs the letter into her pocket, intent on forgetting about in entirely. But – the weight of it there is strangely heavy, and even as she keeps walking, purposefully shining her light into the paintings just to aggravate them, she hears the subtle crinkle of its papery folds with every step. And maybe it's just her mind playing tricks on her again, but for some strange reason, she swears she hears the sound of someone snickering quietly for the briefest of moments, before everything is once more shrouded in the darkness.


	15. Aequanimiter

**Chapter Fifteen | Aequanimiter**

**[With equanimity]**

On the day of Halloween and morning after the detention, Vivian finds herself laden down with homework and assignments that she hadn't yet completed, tests that she still has to study for, and far too many extra-curricular activities than she is happy with. Avery, arsehole that he is, has scheduled another Quidditch practice tomorrow night, which means that any potential fun she'll have in Hogsmeade will be overshadowed by the knowledge that the day will end with Avery shouting at them and threatening to bash them all with rogue bludgers. Not that Vivian really expects to have much fun in Hogsmeade, of course. Gavin Clarke is an utter bore.

As she's walking down to breakfast, dodging orange and black pumpkin confetti and wondering why people have to make such a big deal out of every single holiday, she finds herself somewhat regretting her hasty decision to ask Clarke to Hogsmeade. She's been regretting it all week, really – ever since she'd learned that he's actually a muggleborn. The looks that Mulciber and his friends have been sending her since their discovery of her so-called interest in someone of lesser blood have been quite unpleasant. She doesn't fancy having her reputation plummet as a result of an ill-considered choice. Then again, it isn't as if Mulciber has any right to make a fuss. Not yet.

The thought of her potential future makes her shiver.

"Alright there, Vivian?" Rosalind wonders as she falls into step beside her just as Vivian is approaching the Great Hall. She shoots a glance at her dormmate and raises an eyebrow at the shadows beneath her eyes. Her lip curls.

"You look like shit today," she's only too happy to announce, much to Vivian's annoyance.

"You look like shit every day," Vivian snaps back, and Rosalind grins.

As they head towards the Slytherin table, where the Bloody Baron is making the most of his Halloween spirit as he freaks out the first year students, Rosalind sighs, "You're in one of your moods, I see. I think I liked you better when you were spouting compliments nonstop."

Vivian grunts and sits down with a huff. She casts her eyes over the hall as she reaches for some toast and rhubarb preserve, and mutters, "I got another fucking letter from that revolting arsehole and it made me lose sleep."

The others were already asleep when Vivian had returned to the dorm after her patrols, and so this is news to Rosalind, who immediately straightens up and spears Vivian with eager, anticipatory eyes.

"You did? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Where is it?" she shoots off, and looks like she's seconds away from leaning across the table to pat Vivian down in her hunt.

Vivian glares at her, hoping that it will keep her at bay. It probably wouldn't in any other circumstance (Rosalind is annoying like that), but before any drastic measures need to be taken, Narcissa demurely takes a seat beside Rosalind and sends Vivian a raised brow.

"You lost sleep over your secret admirer?" she drawls, flicking her platinum hair over her shoulder and smirking. "That _is_ interesting."

Vivian gapes, then points her knife at her and staunchly says, "I lost sleep because it pissed me off so much, _Cissy."_

At the nickname, the two of them promptly engage in a miniature Slytherin glare-off, until of course it gets interrupted by Rosalind when she rolls her eyes and says, "Oh would you two stop already? Vivian would never lose sleep for any _other_ reason, Narcissa. She's a cold, unfeeling – "

"I _will_ glue your tongue to the roof of your mouth again, Rosalind," Vivian informs her before she can finish her insult, and sends a too-nice smile her way. Rosalind pushes her lips out and pours herself some tea, apparently realizing that the threat isn't said without intent.

"You're in a really bad mood today," Rosalind mutters, but doesn't look overly annoyed. Vivian sometimes wonders about her, but Rosalind is Slytherin through and through, and she's got more of a backbone than she sometimes seems to.

"Well I haven't been sleeping that well either," Narcissa says as she prepares a plate of scrambled eggs. "All this homework is making me insane. I'm half tempted to just toss it all in the fire and accept Ds in all my classes."

Rosalind sighs in agreement. "My parents would be furious if I got anything below an O. I should just pay off some Ravenclaws to do it all for me. Know anyone I could use, Blair?"

By the way Rosalind smirks widely at her, it's clear who she's referring to. Vivian rolls her eyes, but she can't help but glance over at the Ravenclaw table, which is located right beside Slytherin. Like many of his fellow housemates, Clarke has his nose stuck in a textbook while he eats. He's so focused on his reading that he nearly misses his mouth as he tries to take a bite of his omelet. The sight makes Vivian snort and mutter, "I've got a feeling those tactics would go against everything Clarke stands for."

Narcissa hums, "You sound a bit condescending. I thought you had a huge crush on him."

At this, Vivian raises an eyebrow and coolly returns, "Is that the gossip that's going around the school?"

She doesn't seem very put-out by it. If people want to believe such ridiculous rumors, then they're all the stupider for it. Vivian doesn't much care. The only reason she might is if Mulciber and his gang of up-and-coming Death Eaters make trouble about it.

Narcissa shrugs and casts a glance at Clarke over her shoulder. The Ravenclaw prefect still hasn't lifted his head from his book. It looks almost as if he's trying to sink into the pages themselves.

"Mmhmm. The thought of you being in love with a muggleborn is shocking enough to garner attention, it seems," Narcissa replies, and begins to turn back to her meal, except her eyes alight on something else before she does. Or, rather, some_one_.

Why is her cousin staring at their table? She raises a pointed brow at him which he sees a moment later as his eyes lock with hers, and Sirius sends her a sarcastic little smirk that makes Narcissa narrow her eyes. She makes sure that said eyes are cold and unrelenting for one brief moment before she turns back to face her friends, who haven't noticed that her attention's been interrupted. Rosalind is weaving a speculation about whether Clarke himself is the author of the love poems, and Vivian is busy telling her to shut up about it and that Clarke is far too boring to ever write anything besides essays and assignments.

Narcissa is about to make mention of her cousin's wayward attention, but before she can even open her mouth, Lucius arrives and makes to sit in the free seat beside her, and Narcissa shifts a bit to accommodate his presence at the table.

"Morning," he drawls to her, and then promptly ignores her in favor of reaching for the plate of eggs.

Narcissa sniffs, "Good morning, Lucius. Had a good night's sleep?"

Lucius grunts and mutters, "Fine." Then, glancing up and finally taking notice of Rosalind and Vivian, he smirks, "Morning, Blair."

Vivian sends him a look and briefly returns, "Lucius. Where're your lackies this morning? Needed a bit more beauty sleep, I suppose?"

His smirks widens, and a familiar streak of meanness flashes through his gaze as he raises his eyes to hers. With a shrug, he drawls, "No more than usual. They were too busy contemplating ways to mess with a certain mudblood prefect to come down to eat. I expect they'll be trying to wrangle you into their plans at some point, seeing as you play a key role."

At this, Vivian narrows her eyes, staring at Lucius hard. It's obvious enough that he's talking about Clarke, and that it probably has something to do with Hogsmeade. She leans forward to rest her elbow on the table's surface, and wonders, "Oh? I suppose they won't like it very much when I tell them to fuck off and mind their own business."

Lucius's eyes flash. He lifts his chin a bit as he studies her, his cold gaze meeting her own before he murmurs, "No, I suppose they won't. Best be careful, Blair. You don't want to make enemies in your own house."

Vivian scoffs at this and stabs at her uneaten toast with a baleful glower. "They're the ones making an enemy of me. I didn't even _know_ Clarke was a muggleborn when I asked him to Hogsmeade. Besides, it was only to put Potter in his place."

Rosalind snickers at this, but quiets when Narcissa elbows her. Lucius doesn't seem to even care to hear Vivian's side of the story, and merely takes a sip of his water with a blasé look on his face.

"There are other ways to put Potter in his place," he tells her after a long moment of silence, and Narcissa stiffens the tiniest bit beside him. She stares down into her plate without a word, but the way her lips tighten is indication enough of her the discomfort that Lucius's words have brought.

Vivian stares at Narcissa, then at Lucius, and then she huffs, "On that not so cryptic note, are you all going to Slughorn's Halloween party tonight?"

There's no use getting into a verbal dispute with Lucius Malfoy about his views regarding what 'other' tactics might effectively work to quell Potter's incessantly annoying behavior. Talk of torture and curses aren't really proper breakfast conversation, in her opinion, especially when she has no interest in using those methods anyhow. She might have some questionable morals every now and again, but she isn't downright malevolent. Potter would probably disagree, but his perspective hardly matters.

Rosalind shrugs, "I'm never invited to those, so I'll be spending the evening enjoying some light reading."

Rosalind's definition of light reading includes tabloid magazines, so this isn't very impressive to Vivian, who just turns to Narcissa expectantly. She always gets an invitation. The Black name isn't easily overlooked, especially not by Slughorn, who is always sniffing out potential connections like the Slytherin he is. There's only one Black who has never been invited to one of his parties, and he happens to be sitting on the other side of the Great Hall, currently tossing pieces of bacon at Pettigrew, who is trying to catch them mid-air with disgustingly precise success.

No, Sirius Black would never garner an invitation to a Slug Club party, blood traitor that he is. That, and his thoroughly uncultured tastes and blatant lack of manners (not only of the dining variety) are clear strikes against him, not that he cares. He's probably just as happy to not have to reject any such invitations, in the unlikely event that he was to actually receive one. Though knowing him, he'd enjoy the rejection nonetheless.

Narcissa opens her mouth to respond, but Lucius cuts in before she can respond and drawls, "We'll be going, of course. We can't miss one of Slughorn's parties, now can we?" He glances over at his fiancée, who nods in agreement, though Narcissa doesn't look overly enthused at the prospect. This isn't much of a surprise, considering that she never looks enthused about anything.

Vivian nods. "Right. Well then, I'll see you both there. And you can tell Mulciber to mind his own fucking business, Malfoy."

Lucius raises an eyebrow at her and smirks, "Why don't you tell him yourself, Blair?" He nods at something over her shoulder, and Vivian turns, suddenly finding herself staring straight into the murky brown eyes of the man himself.

Adrian Mulciber sends her a look and sidles onto the bench beside Vivian. He sweeps his eyes over her briefly before murmuring, "You've got quite the mouth on you, Blair. First the incident in Defense class the other day, and now this? I wonder what we should do to fix that."

Vivian glowers at him around her mug of coffee. Once she takes a sip, she bites, _"You_ don't have the right to do _anything_ about it, Mulciber. And you should have known better than to call Clarke a mudblood in the middle of class, so I won't apologize."

Mulciber doesn't look like he cares whether she apologizes or not. He does, however, stare at her for a long moment, his eyes dark and deadly in a way that is difficult to describe. It's like there's a storm brewing beneath the surface of them, but only the smallest hint of clouds can be seen on their horizon, for now.

"I wouldn't be too sure, Vivian," he tells her after a moment. "I might end up having the right to do whatever I'd like with your mouth, come graduation. Our parents have been talking."

Vivian's hard, narrowed expression turns into a sneering glare. She lowers her mug to the table and sets it down as calmly as possible, with all the practiced grace that her childhood etiquette lessons have bestowed upon her. Then she spears Mulciber with a dark and deadly look of her own, and scathingly responds, "You're disgusting."

He just shrugs and turns to smirk at Lucius, who smirks back as he watches the exchange. When Mulciber glances back at Vivian, he says, "Considering the possibility of my future rights, I'll look the other way this time, Blair. If you ever take a mudblood's side over my own again, though…just remember that it could have long term consequences."

Vivian knows she should leave the conversation before it takes a turn down a darker path. Rosalind and Narcissa are staring at her like they're silently telling her to shut up, and if she had any sense, she'd listen to them. The long term consequences that Mulciber is speaking of could be very real, and she should cut her loses while she still can in order to salvage her future dignity, but…

Merlin, he just pisses her off so much.

She stands up, grabs her bag, and then sends one last glare at Mulciber before hissing, "I'd rather marry one of those sniveling mudbloods and be the laughing stock of pureblood Britain than be with a disgusting toad like you."

And, though Mulciber's eyes flash with unspoken fury, and though her heart should by all rights be shaking in her chest with fear at all the future consequences that these words might bring, Vivian just sends him one last sneer before marching away from the table with a brazen smirk etched to her face. Oh, she should really know better than to spew words like that right to Mulciber's face, but it's not like she had truly meant them.

She'd _never_ marry a mudblood over one of her own. Would she? She receives an answer to this unconscious question a lot sooner than expected.

As she's storming out of the Great Hall, Gavin Clarke follows her out to flag her down, and though she's still reeling with fury at Mulciber's condescending words, it doesn't ward off the Ravenclaw like it normally might.

"Blair – Vivian, hold up a moment – "

"_What?"_ she demands, her voice laden with annoyance, and turns to the gawky prefect just in time to see his face drain of color and his eyes catch with hesitation. She sighs impatiently and, in a slightly gentler voice, says, "Sorry. What do you want, Clarke?"

He still hesitates, kicking at the flagstones beneath his feet for a moment and looking altogether uncomfortable to be standing in the middle of the hallway with Vivian Blair. His book bag is, as always, spilling over with textbooks and school materials, and probably weighs a ton. His glasses are askew from his rush to catch her in time, and his hair is swept out of place rather than set in its usually pristine position.

He peers at her before dropping his eyes again, and clears his throat.

Vivian purses her mouth at him. "I have things to do, you know," she prompts.

He blushes.

"Er – I was just, um…about Hogsmeade – "

"You are _not_ bailing on me, Clarke," Vivian interrupts, crossing her arms and spearing him with a hard look. "I don't care if you've got homework to obsess over or if you've decided that you're too spineless to go on a date with me – "

"Okay, first of all, I am not spineless," Gavin cuts in, holding his finger up and looking a bit rumpled and offended, and Vivian shuts her mouth to look at him expectantly, waiting for the next point, which is quick to come. He doesn't look nearly as hesitant as he had before when he says, "Second of all, I was going to say that I'd rather meet you at 9:30 because Flitwick asked me to – "

"You're such a teacher's pet," Vivian grouses, and rolls her eyes.

Gavin shoots her a look and retorts, "And _you're_ rude. Honestly. Don't you know how to have a proper conversation without insulting someone?"

…She has to admit that she's a little bit surprised at this, and – well, just the smallest bit impressed. She tilts her head at him as if seeing him in a new light, and hums, "Huh. I guess you're not as spineless as I thought you were."

Gavin huffs at her and mutters, "Thanks, I guess? Can we stop with the backwards insults now?"

Vivian shrugs. "Fine. As long as you swear that this isn't just a hoax to bail on our date."

He clears his throat a bit, his cheeks blushing just so, and mumbles, "It's not." Then, sweeping his hand through his hair boyishly, he briefly meets her eye and says, "I'll see you at 9:30 tomorrow, then?"

She pauses, quite suddenly aware of several things. One, she's never been on the receiving end of a question like that before, spoken with such innocent hesitation. She's never dated anyone outside of Slytherin, and when asking someone out, it's usually much more brash and much less gentle. Two, she thinks, quite abruptly, that perhaps she isn't regretting this whole thing as much as she thought she was.

"…9:30, then," she parrots back, eyeing Clarke strangely, as if she's wondering if there's something wrong with him. Gavin doesn't stop to ask what it is, and merely clears his throat again before nodding and taking off, heaving his overflowing book bag up and shooting her one last glance as he heads down the hall.

She has another realization, too, but it's one that she doesn't really know what to do with. For, despite Gavin Clarke being everything that she's been raised to loathe, she finds that perhaps her spur of the moment words to Mulciber had been right after all. Perhaps she would rather marry a mudblood like Clarke over a pureblood like him. If it all came down to it, though, would she actually be able to forsake her entire world?

She doesn't think she's that strong, but maybe that's the thing about strength. You're always surprised at how strong you really are, in the moments when you need to be, and though Vivian pushes these thoughts away as she turns towards the dungeons to collect her things for the day, she doesn't realize just how many times she will return to it in the future. She doesn't know just how often she will wonder what is more important: keeping to the status quo even though it means the death of her happiness, or throwing caution to the wind to pursue something far more satisfying.

* * *

In anticipation for the Hogsmeade weekend, the professors go easy on them in classes today. Professor Anderson assigns a small assignment on the Patronus charm, which they've been working on since the start of school. They'll still be spending several lessons each week on practical study, but he is now turning to other topics as well. Vivian is fascinated with learning about new dark creatures and she hardly minds the additional assignment on Inferi, so she can't complain too much.

She's also just as glad to focus on other subjects, considering that she has yet to produce even a small amount of light from her wand. This isn't irregular, according to Anderson. Potter and Black are still the only people in the class who have managed to conjure fully formed Patronuses, and there are only a few others who've been able to summon an orb. Still, Vivian doesn't much enjoy all this time they've been spending on learning this spell and is quite ready to put it behind her for good. It's a shame that they can't move on from it entirely.

"On Monday, we'll return to learning some theory regarding the Patronum. Expect a small quiz to see how well you've retained what we've gone over so far!" Anderson glances up at the clock and adds, "I expect that the Hogsmeade trip won't deter any of you from completing your homework."

He waves his hand at them in a silent dismissal, and the class shuffles out of their desks and begin to gather their supplies.

In Potions that afternoon, Slughorn is too busy promoting his Halloween party to care overmuch about whether his students are paying attention.

"It'll be a grand old time, I'm sure!" he proclaims, and says, "Remember, eight o'clock tonight! Don't be late!"

Vivian only sighs at the thought and focuses on copying down the notes written out on the blackboard, which Slughorn himself is hardly giving mind to as he leans against his desk and goes into detail about the food selections for the evening ahead.

"Wild duck, steak and kidney pies, Cornish crabs – "

A few tables down, Potter and Black pretend to vomit. Vivian doubts it has anything to do with the menu itself and more to do with the mere idea of wasting their precious time at a stuffing, elitist get-together when they could instead be scheming some ridiculous new prank that will get them a few laughs.

" – and for dessert, just wait till you see the chocolate fountain – "

"I pity anyone who's forced to witness such a sight," Black whispers, just loud enough for his voice to reach Vivian's table. Slughorn himself doesn't hear over his vivid descriptions of his fondue station.

"It's _Halloween,"_ Potter whispers back with a grin. "Perfect night for some quality mischief. I wouldn't be caught dead at that party."

Black snickers, "Everyone who goes to those useless things are such bores." And, casting a smug glance over at Vivian's table, he smirks wider.

Their eyes clash, and Vivian sneers at him. She dips her quill into her inkpot and jots something down on a scrap of parchment. Slughorn is so caught up in his gushing that he doesn't even notice the way Vivian charms the note to fly through the air. It hits Sirius on the back of his head, flutters incessantly near his ear for a moment, and then unfolds midair to shove itself impatiently into his face.

Sirius grabs it, pulls it back to read it, and promptly glowers. Vivian just leans back in her chair and smirks.

'_Blood traitors aren't invited.'_

He shoots her a glare and immediately scratches out a response while James leans over to see what's distracted his friend. They're wearing matching glowers as Sirius sends her note back with a scathing reply.

'_F you Godric'_

Vivian raises an eyebrow at the unoriginal response and sends him an unimpressed look, which he scowls at.

The rest of the day goes by in a similar manner, but with a bit of a twist.

"Padfoot, why'd you write this and send it around the school?" Remus wonders, waving a piece of paper in the air as the Marauders all clamor into the Great Hall for lunch. Remus had just finished up his Care of Magical Creatures class, which he's taking solo this year, and he joins his friends just as they are walking through the doors. His odd question makes Sirius pause and look over at him, raising an eyebrow at the piece of paper that Remus is holding and looking a bit confused.

"Huh?" he asks.

James looks over too and snickers, "What'd you do this time, Pads? Another prank against the Slytherins that I didn't know about? How rude of you, keeping me uninformed."

Peter glances over curiously. "Yeah, you usually tell us when you're going to prank someone."

They're just reaching the Gryffindor table and sliding onto the bench when Remus shakes his head. In a cautious tone, he says, "I think the real question is what'd you do to piss someone off?"

Sirius leans forward to snatch the paper, grousing, "I don't know what the bloody hell you're on about, Moony. What's…that foul little cretin!"

He slams the paper down on his empty plate and turns in his seat to glare at the Slytherin table. Vivian is already watching him, her chin resting in her palm and wearing a supremely satisfied look on her face. When their eyes clash, her mouth curves up into an evil smile.

"That _snake,"_ Sirius mutters, narrowing his eyes.

James lifts the paper up and reads, _"My name is Sirius Black and I'm a womanizing arsehole?"_ He tilts his head and drawls, "Well, you're being a bit harsh on yourself, Padfoot, but I'm glad to see that you're able to admit – "

"Shut it, Prongs. I didn't write that."

"It's your handwriting."

"I know."

"So what's – oh, I get it," James says as he catches sight of where Sirius's attention is. He rolls his eyes. "That's what you get for constantly pissing off Blair."

At this, Sirius's mouth drops open in shock. He turns to his friend with betrayed eyes, only to realize that Remus and Peter also seem to be in agreement. With a huff, he grabs the paper and viciously tears it in half. "I thought we _all_ enjoyed messing with the Slytherins."

Remus sighs, "We do, but we don't only target _one_ of them like you do."

James nods. "You're getting a tad bit predictable, I'm sorry to say."

Peter grunts, "I don't get why you always want to prank Blair all the time."

Sirius gapes at them.

"I target other Slytherins! Just the other day, I charmed Snivelly's books to chase him down the halls," he reminds them, recalling that particular incident with fond memories.

James shrugs. "I'm not saying you shouldn't prank Blair. I'm just saying you prank her more than any other Slytherin. Including Snivellus," he adds when Sirius opens his mouth again.

Before Sirius can properly defend himself, one of their fellow Gryffindors walks over to say, "Oi, Black, did you write this or did you finally get pranked?"

They all turn to Miller, who is holding another one of the papers and is wearing a confused look on his face. James leans over to snatch it.

'_My name is Sirius Black and I'm a womanizing arsehole'_

"Do you _think_ I wrote it?" Sirius demands incredulously, and looks at Miller as if he thinks he's stupid.

Miller just shrugs, "Dunno. Maybe you were feeling the need to be honest with everyone or something."

Sirius narrows his eyes and stand up. "Be _honest_ with everyone – "

"Oh sit down, Padfoot," James says, and pulls Sirius back into his seat with a forceful tug. He turns to Miller and says, "It's a prank, Miller. I know you're smarter than that."

Miller just shrugs and heads off to find a seat. Sirius glowers over at the Slytherin table again. The other Marauders just start loading their plates with lunch and start trying to figure out how they're going to round up all the papers that boast Sirius's apparent admission. It isn't going to be an easy task. Now that they've been made aware of it, it's clear that said papers have been making their way around the school all morning, and from the looks of it, every single house has been included in the prank.

People all over the Great Hall are sporting the papers and shooting Sirius amused glances as they dig into their lunches, but there's one person who looks even more amused than the others.

Vivian Blair just sends Sirius a blasé shrug as she bites into her sandwich, as if to tell him that it isn't really a big deal. It's not as if it's a lie, at least.

After all, he _is_ a womanizing arsehole, and he fully deserves having the entire school know it.

* * *

"My brother is pretty pissed, you know."

Vivian glances up from where she's standing by the chocolate fountain and sends Regulus a raised eyebrow.

"Mmhmm," she agrees, and smirks. He stares at her for one long moment before smirking as well.

"He and his friends have spent all day trying to locate the papers," he adds, and reaches around her to take a strawberry. He dips it into the chocolate and takes a bite before straightening back out and meeting her eyes. He shrugs, "I know for a fact that they haven't found them all, though."

Vivian tilts her head at him and wonders, "Oh?"

Regulus snickers, finishes off his strawberry, and reaches into his pocket to pull out a wrinkled piece of parchment that looks very familiar to her. He smiles very mischievously and murmurs, "I can't wait to pull this out the next time he bothers me."

She can't help the laughter that comes to her lips. It's partially due to the fact that Regulus decided to keep one of her papers as a keepsake, but mainly because of how he looks as he stands before her, wearing his best Slytherin smirk and looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Just the thought of having this sort of ammunition against his brother is enough to send sparks of glee through his silver gaze. He looks excessively pleased.

"I'm glad to see that someone appreciates all my hard work," Vivian sighs, and shoots him a Slytherin smirk of her own. Together, they linger in the middle of Slughorn's Halloween party wearing their smirks as the music and conversation drones on around them.

She hasn't seen much of Regulus in the last few days, not since that fateful dinner when she'd told him he looked like Adonis and he had burst out into laughter at her accidental compliment. Looking at him now, she finds herself wishing that he'd laugh like that again, if only because it had been so surprising to witness. She doesn't think she's ever seen such a sight, not from him.

As if his mind is in a similar place, Regulus gestures towards the drink table and says, "I'm glad to see that you've pulled yourself out of your compliment rut. Guess the spell wore off."

Over to the side, Slughorn is loudly spinning a story about having received the best tickets that money can buy for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, and how one of his old students had managed to secure them because of his connections to Bernie Billawig, who plays Keeper for the Bizkala Boggarts. Vivian can vaguely hear him going on about how he'll get the chance to meet Billawig himself at the Cup and how eager he is to make his acquaintance (probably to forge another connection), but she shuts out the conversation in favor of accepting the glass of butterbeer that Regulus is handing her.

"Mmm. I got my just payback for it, which makes up for it all," she replies, eyes flashing as she recalls how she'd spent the night before charming Sirius's lines to duplicate hundreds of times over. Passing them around the school had been easy enough with the help of some first year students, who were only too willing to help her out. Though the first years are yet new to Hogwarts, even they know about the four Gryffindor troublemakers, and most of them were eager to put them in their place.

Regulus hums in agreement, leaning back against the drinks table as he sweeps his eyes over the gathering. It's a standard Slug Club party. The only deviation is that the party is themed. Because it's Halloween, the decorations are particularly garish so as to reflect the holiday, and the room is full of enchanted jack-o-lanterns that keep rearranging their expressions to spook students, Hogwarts ghosts who fly above the crowd and watch the festivities from the rafters, and a choir of singing skeletons who are performing over in the corner. (Though not very well, in Vivian's opinion.)

Other than the choice of décor, though, everything is just the same as it always is at these types of events. There are more Slytherins here than any other house, courtesy of Slughorn's favoritism, and the people who aren't from Slytherin have all gathered together in groups of at least three, courtesy of their fear of getting on the bad side of one of said Slytherins. It's all very normal.

Slughorn has had several drinks already and his words are beginning to slur a bit, running together just so and giving away his indulgences for the evening. He breaks off halfway through his gushing over the Quidditch World Cup to drag Mulciber and Avery over to him, seeing them as they walk by. As he wrangles them into a discussion, during which they appear to be acting on their best behavior (only a bit surprising, seeing as Slughorn is most likely on a first-name basis with their respective parents), Regulus takes a sip of his butterbeer and watches them.

His voice is slow and careful when he murmurs, "I heard you got on Adrian's nerves again during breakfast."

Vivian snorts. "Please. I'm not afraid of him."

Her reckless statement only makes Regulus turn to her with a solemn look on his face. It isn't out of the ordinary to see his expression composed in such a way, but it still makes her pause to consider it. True, she doesn't know him very well, but the way his eyes flash into hers looks almost like concern.

His voice is even quieter when he replies, "…You should be."

She stares at him, a bit hesitant at this. It must be obvious, because a moment later, Regulus shrugs and turns back to his drink as if his quiet, serious words had never been uttered to begin with. Except they had, and they aren't that easy to brush under the rug.

"What do you mean by that?" she murmurs to him with a frown. Though her face is turned to him, however, her eyes are trained onto Mulciber. He's standing with his back to her, chuckling at something that Slughorn is saying. From her position, she can just barely make out the words 'bat wings' and 'utopia', and figures that their professor is probably in the middle of telling one of his notoriously bad jokes, and that the only reason Mulciber is laughing at all is to appease him. She doubts she's ever seen him laugh in any other situation. Well, besides torturing the first years and snickering with his friends when they all go off to hex someone.

Regulus glances at her from the corner of his eye, but doesn't respond at first. He bides his time, chewing over his words at length as he watches Vivian look towards Mulciber. He's heard the rumors, same as every other Slytherin. Mulciber and Vivian are potentially betrothed, or will be at some future date. He's not sure if it's all speculation, though. People like to talk, and he hasn't had the chance to ask Mulciber if the rumors are true yet.

He dearly hopes that they are not. He hangs around Mulciber enough to know what he's like. They share common beliefs, and Regulus enjoys debating with Mulciber and his friends regarding current events and what they're planning on doing after Hogwarts. More recently, Regulus has been very eager to hear about his account on the Dark Lord. Mulciber claims that he's met him in person, and that he was even invited by the Dark Lord himself to join his cause. When he'd heard the news, Regulus had been very curious to know more, and Adrian had been eager to answer his questions. Still, despite their alliance, Regulus does not want Vivian to end up with a man like that.

She can take care of herself, he knows, but the pureblood world is cutthroat, and being tied to a man like Adrian Mulciber would only make it even more exhausting. Something within Regulus revolts at the thought of watching her get married to such a menacing character. Sure, he respects Mulciber for many reasons, but picturing him and Vivian together makes Regulus shiver.

He frowns into his glass and shakes off Vivian's question. She surely already knows what he means. She must know that she should be careful. That she doesn't necessarily have the freedom to slip up where it concerns a potential marriage. These things must be gently maneuvered around, which he knows she quite capable of doing as long as she keeps her head on her shoulders. Vivian Blair is, after all, a Slytherin through and through. She certainly knows her way around tactical advantages and ensuring that she stays one step ahead.

Clearing his throat, Regulus turns to her and, instead of responding, merely says, "So, got any idea where you're dragging Clarke to tomorrow?"

The distraction works. Vivian scoffs to herself and shoots him a look that makes the corner of his mouth tilt up into his barely-there smile.

"Madam Puddifoot's," she deadpans, and he chokes a bit at the mental image that this affords.

"You and Clarke in Puddifoot's? That sounds like the beginning of a joke," he snickers. He's glad when she snickers too. Her laughter, whatever form it takes, is much better than the wary look that had been flashing through her eyes a moment before.

She shrugs, "I don't know. If I get bored of him within the first five minutes, I'll probably abandon him. That's my policy."

He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. "Five minutes isn't a very long time."

She hums, takes a sip of her butterbeer, and retaliates, "A first impression is made within the span of a second."

He glances over at her with a musing look on his face. She stares right back and raises an eyebrow, wondering what he's thinking. His expression is oddly contemplative, as if his thoughts are centered around something very particular. Grey eyes flash. The atmospheric lighting of the party reflects them into startling clarity.

Then, finally, Regulus opens his mouth and begins to say, "If you do end up abandoning him, you could always – "

"Vivian! Hurry up and pretend like you're talking to me so it looks like I'm busy. I desperately need a break from Lucius, he's driving me mental," Narcissa suddenly bursts in, dragging Vivian around to face her and shooting a furtive glance over her shoulder at where Lucius Malfoy is searching the crowd, no doubt for his betrothed.

Vivian gives Narcissa a skeptical look and turns back to Regulus, but he's already turning away to get another butterbeer, the remainder of his sentence left unsaid. A shame. She does enjoy talking to him.

As for Regulus, well.

After he refills his glass, he looks back over at Vivian. Her chocolate brown hair is tied in a low bun tonight, and his eyes travel to the arch of her neck. There's a thin silver chain that glimmers just so in the dim light; an enchanting addition to an already charming sight. Her plum colored dress robes hug her in a way that makes her appear small and dainty, as if she is a breakable piece of glass.

Then, he turns to Mulciber. Tall, imposing, muscled. His thick brows frame eyes that glitter with a hard edge, and his stiff shoulders lend him an air of tense unease. His laugh is obviously fake, though Slughorn doesn't seem to notice. It's just a shard of sound that reminds Regulus of an angry river sweeping relentlessly forward.

No, no. A girl like Vivian needs someone better than that. Someone to encourage her voracious appetite for reading. Someone who can respect her propensity to create spells and enchantments. Someone who doesn't shy away from the intellectual sides of her, which she often tries to keep to herself.

If Vivian should end up with anyone, it should be…well, him.

But he doesn't take into account one small detail: Fate doesn't like playing by the rules. It isn't easily chartered. It prefers the caustic route – the thunderous storms and the climbing waves. Men have spent lifetimes trying to plug it into a mathematical formula, but every single time, they fail.

What seems obvious to the common man is mere child's play to Fate. It forges its own path, unforgivable and relentless.


	16. Aqua profunda est quieta

**Chapter Sixteen | Aqua profunda est quieta**

**[Still waters run deep]**

Regulus had been right: five minutes isn't a very long time at all, and much to her surprise, Vivian is a bit taken aback when 9:30 rolls around and Gavin Clarke makes a hasty appearance in the entrance hall. Her surprise could be due to any number of things, from the way that he arrives at precisely 9:30 and not a moment early or late; the manner in which he rushes around the corner so quickly that for a second, it looks like he might slip on the flagstones and fall spectacularly; or the fact that for the first time she's ever seen him, his arms aren't laden with books, and his full-to-bursting bookbag is nowhere in sight. However, if Vivian is to be completely honest with herself this morning (she isn't), the majority of her surprise has nothing to do with Gavin's immaculate timing, hasty entrance, or lack of textbooks. It actually has more to do with the general sight that he makes.

Without his blue and black robes, he looks weirdly normal. It's clear that he had put at least some effort into grooming himself that morning, for his hair is laying in the usually perfect manner that he often achieves, and in this lighting, she can see the amber highlights more clearly. His eyes are bright and alert behind his glasses, and there's a healthy flush to his cheeks that is no doubt due to the way that he had rushed to arrive. But, more than all of those things, Vivian is surprised at what he's wearing.

It's just that she's never worn muggle clothes, herself. She's seen them plenty of times, of course. She's always thought they looked odd and uncomfortable, but on Gavin Clarke, they don't look half bad. She eyes him from where she's leaning against one of the pillars in the courtyard, her gaze roving his figure in a critical way, as if she's trying to decide what she thinks of it all.

Namely, that she's going to Hogsmeade with a muggleborn.

When he sees her, Gavin heads her way. He's straightening out his jacket as he stops in front of her, and he promptly does one of those hand-through-hair things that boys always do, when they aren't sure how they should conduct themselves.

She raises an eyebrow at him, taking in the Ravenclaw scarf and the flushed cheeks, and drawls, "You look…different."

There's just the slightest edge of an insult in her tone. It's something _she_ does, when _she_ doesn't know how to conduct herself. It effectively breaks the thin layer of ice that had been gathering between them since he'd rushed around the corner – enough to make his expression pull down into something that resembles incredulity.

"_You_ don't," he quips right back, evidently having remembered that Vivian Blair can be quite rude at times.

She turns her raised eyebrow to her own attire. The black robes she's wearing aren't her school robes, but they are of a similar cut. She's wearing a black cloak on top of them that stops at bit below her hips. It has a shorter mantle stitched into the neck that flows over her shoulders, and it's all held together with a silver brooch that's pinned below her chin, depicting a Runespoor. It's three pairs of eyes, respectively, are inlaid with tiny shimmering emeralds, and they seem to blink back up at her as she studies her appearance. She thinks she looks respectable enough, and just shrugs.

"Anyway, let's just get this over with," she says, and turns on her heel to go wave her Hogsmeade permission form in Filch's face. The caretaker grabs it with a frown, probably not appreciating her impatient methods, and signs it with an X before shoving it back none too gently. Vivian curls her lips at him and waits for Gavin to hurry up.

He looks a bit reluctant and very out of his element, especially once they start heading down the rocky path that will lead them down to the gates of the grounds and out into the village. She supposes she can't blame him for it. Hogsmeade weekends are always greatly anticipated, and there are a lot of students on their way down the path. Many of them do a doubletake when they see Gavin and Vivian walking side by side, clearly shocked that the two most unlikely people at school are actually getting along. If one could technically call it that, of course.

'Getting along' means enjoying each other's company and exchanging friendly banter, but they merely walk in stony silence and hardly acknowledge each other until they reach the entrance into Hogsmeade. At that point, Vivian realizes that she doesn't exactly have a plan for the day, has no idea where a nerd like Clarke would spend his time, isn't all that interested in staying on the streets because people keep staring at them, and figures that she ought to talk to him so as to hammer out a plan of action.

She turns to face him, and opens her mouth at precisely the same time he does.

"So bookstore - ?" she starts.

"How about we – " he begins.

They both fall silent and just stare at each other awkwardly. And then, after several seconds, Gavin reaches up to push his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and says in a ruffled way, "That is highly stereotypical of you, you know."

Vivian raises an eyebrow. "You're a Ravenclaw. Ravenclaws are nerds who like to waste their time in bookstores. How is that stereotypical?"

He flaps his mouth at her in that ruffled manner before finally settling on, "I'm not a _nerd!"_

Vivian doesn't look convinced, and Gavin glowers at her.

"That would be like _me_ asking _you_ if you want to go to the Dark Arts store," he dryly informs her. This time, she has more of a reaction.

"There isn't even a store like that in Hogsmeade!" she says, looking a bit perturbed at the way he's twisted her words around on her. She narrows her eyes at him, but Gavin just narrows his right back. Vivian snorts, "That's totally different, anyhow."

This time, it's him who doesn't look convinced, and she rolls her eyes.

"Not every Slytherin is a Dark Arts fanatic, Clarke." She scoffs again and starts walking, heading to the nearest store. It just so happens to be a potions shop, which is probably just as bad.

Clarke coughs out a laugh as he follows her inside, and mutters, "All Slytherins love potion-making, though, I suppose."

She swivels around to spear him with an unimpressed look, and he quickly erases his smile. After a moment, though, Vivian can't help but snicker a bit as she turns back around. Her voice is a bit more playful when she murmurs, "Oh shut it. This wasn't intentional."

Clarke hums, but doesn't respond. He just follows Vivian into the shop with his hands in his pockets, and seems to be feeling a bit better about the attention that they're still receiving, for he doesn't duck his head or fiddle with his glasses like he was doing before. The pair of them walk among the shelves for a few minutes, but Potions isn't Vivian's favorite class and she grows bored fairly quickly. After perusing through ingredients, both common and rare, she turns back around to suggest that they go somewhere else, only to find that Gavin has found a book on healing potions and is leafing through it curiously.

She blinks at him and crosses her arms, but he doesn't notice her at all. As he leans over the book to read through a recipe using Dittany, his hair falls into his eyes just so, and for some bizarre reason, Vivian finds herself wanting to brush it back out of his face. She tempers the impulse to instead snort, "I thought you said you weren't a nerd."

Gavin immediately looks up, appearing a bit startled at her sudden words. He turns to face her with a confused look on his face. Vivian just glances at the book in his hands, and he rolls his eyes.

"Please. I don't even like Potions," he mutters, and snaps the book shut before setting it back in its place.

Vivian shrugs, "Neither do I."

Gavin quizzically wonders, "Then why are we in here?"

She shrugs again.

He sighs, pushes his glasses up, and turns to face her. In a very 'Ravenclaw' tone (that is, quite matter-of-fact and almost overly logical), he declares, "We ought to figure out what shops we both want to visit so we don't waste time. Let's see…students have to be back at the castle by five o'clock, so that gives us seven hours. However, since I wanted to get started on my Transfiguration essay, I need to be back by three the latest – so that I can go to the library and find some research materials – which means we've really only got five hours. Now, the busiest time to go to the Three Broomsticks is at one o'clock, so I recommend that we get there sooner to avoid the lunch crowd, which means we have about two hours to shop. It would make the most sense, of course, to start on one side of the street and then make our way to the other side, which will take us to the Three Broomsticks at precisely – hey, Vivian – wait up!"

He hurries after the Slytherin, sweeping a hand through his hair as Vivian pushes open the doors and heads back out onto the street. She appears to not have heard a word he'd said, because before he can remind her of the plan he'd started putting together, she's already crossing the street and throwing it all to shambles.

"This isn't a prefect meeting, it's a _date,"_ she tells him as he's opening his mouth to inform her of this. The word 'date' quickly makes him snap his mouth shut. Vivian watches curiously as he flushes a bit, and snickers. "What, haven't you ever been on a date before?"

Gavin shoves his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. After a beat of silence, he mutters, "Yeah, with other Ravenclaws."

She glances over at him, feeling distinctly amused.

"Well, you're not spending the whole date in the bookstore this time, Clarke, so let's get going," she breezily replies, and Gavin huffs.

"That's rude," he tells her.

"I know," she responds.

He sighs.

"Wanna go to Honeydukes?" she wonders after a moment, and Gavin shrugs in agreement. The candy store is up ahead anyhow, and even though it's pretty busy, he figures that they might as well do something. This is certainly not the usual date he finds himself on – not that he's gone on many. To be honest, he spends many Hogsmeade weekends in the library or in the Ravenclaw commons.

Thankfully, the shock of seeing Vivian and Clarke together like this has worn off for the most part. Sort of. As Gavin gets the door for her and they head into the store, however, it spirals back.

"I thought you might get cold feet, Clarke," Potter suddenly drawls to their immediate left. He's leaning against one of the shelves with his arms crossed, looking like the git he always is. Beside him, Pettigrew seems to have become his pack mule, for his arms are laden with so much candy that it's a wonder he hasn't dropped any of it yet. Vivian narrows her eyes at them, but she really ought to know by now that they aren't alone. The Marauders are, unfortunately, a package deal.

"Yeah, I figured Godric would've hexed you already," another voice adds over to the side, and Vivian turns to see Black and Lupin heading over, holding a few boxes of licorice wands.

"Your fortitude is impressive," Potter says, still addressing Gavin, who looks like he's caught between a rock and a hard place, with no idea what to say or do.

Luckily Vivian does.

"Are you really buying all that candy?" she scorns, eyeing the mountain of candy in Pettigrew's arms. She mutters, "Fat pigs," beneath her breath, but it's loud enough for them to hear, naturally.

"Oi! This stash is going to last us months!" James cuts in with a scowl, and then turns to also eye the mountain of candy in Peter's arms. He pauses thoughtfully and then amends, "Well, a couple weeks, at least. We need more chocolate frogs."

Sirius nods in agreement and then proclaims, "You could use more fat on your bones, Blair. You're basically a toothpick."

At this the Marauders and Gavin all look at her, no doubt weighing the truth of Sirius's words and deciding if she does, indeed, look like a toothpick. Vivian doesn't much appreciate it. Pulling her cloak tighter about her figure, she scowls, "And you're a filthy prat."

Sirius shrugs, smirks, and purrs, "I thought I was filthy _gorgeous."_

She sends him the most hateful glare she can muster, grabs Gavin's arm, and drags him deeper into the shop to avoid having to respond to him. Ah, if only Sirius Black would learn when to call it quits.

"A shame there isn't a Knockturn Alley round these parts, isn't is Blair? I'll bet you'd spend the whole day there," Sirius breezily says.

As Gavin awkwardly looks at a box of sugar quills, Vivian snorts, "It _is_ a shame. I'm sure there'd be a ton of things I could get that would shut you up for the rest of your life."

Sirius opens his mouth to retaliate, but before he gets the chance, something knocks into him and nearly displaces his balance, and his attention is drawn to the girl who is suddenly wrapping her arms around his neck and exclaiming, _"There_ you are, Sirius! Next time, let's meet somewhere that isn't so crowded. I almost couldn't find you at all!"

Off to the side, Vivian sarcastically mutters, "Lucky."

Sirius glowers at her for a moment before turning back to the girl who is now reaching up to generously push his black hair from his face. The sight is enough to make Vivian want to retch, which she makes no effort to hide as she coughs against the shelves.

"Hey, Marl. I thought you got lost or something," he says as he loops an arm around the girl's waist. He sends her one of his trademark 'I'm-too-sexy-for-life' smirks (Vivian only wishes that was true) and she dissolves into giggles.

Ah, right. Marlene McKinnon. She's in Gryffindor, same as Sirius and his ridiculous friends. She's one of the few girls that Sirius always seems to return to. They must've gotten together and broken up a hundred times by now. She always takes him back. Poor mental fortitude, in Vivian's opinion. Actually, just a small brain overall, for ever having found Black attractive to begin with. Anyway – these days, according to the rumor mills, the pair of them don't usually get as far as obtaining girlfriend/boyfriend status. Maybe it's because they both know by now that it won't last, and they're fine with just fooling around and being done with it.

Vivian crosses her arms and drawls, "McKinnon."

Beside her, Gavin clears his throat and sends the girl a friendly nod, though it's a bit strained in the given situation. He's obviously feeling out of his comfort zone once more, not that she can blame him. She hadn't been expecting to have a run-in with Sirius Black today, and everyone knows how much Vivian and Sirius loathe each other. They aren't exactly quiet about it.

Marlene looks over at Vivian as if seeing her for the first time, and raises her eyebrows. She looks a bit hesitant for a split second before she coolly responds, "…Blair. Didn't see you over there."

Sirius chortles, "She blends in with the darkness."

Vivian rolls her eyes and fires back with a quote that clearly goes over Sirius's abysmally egotistical head. "Life is but a procession of shadows."

Sirius and Marlene give her confused looks, but Gavin lifts his head so fast that he nearly gets whiplash, and stares at Vivian in shock. She glances over at him and raises an eyebrow, wondering why his eyes are so wide and why he looks like he's seconds away from fainting.

Gavin lets out an incredulous laugh and breathlessly exclaims, "Virginia Woolf."

This time, it's Vivian's turn to be shocked. She does a doubletake and turns to gape at him. A slow smile grows over her face, like a raincloud being slowly pushed away from the sunshine. The overcast shadows which had graced the earth are peeled back as if in layers. First, the corners of the mouth curl up. Then, the eyes. Flinty brown turns to soft hazel. It is like the clouds had hung over a diamond mine, before, and now that they are gone, the sunlight captures their every edge in such a way that it makes the whole world shimmer.

"You've read it, then?" Vivian eagerly asks, and seems to have forgotten that Sirius and Marlene are even there at all.

Gavin has, too. He leans forward a bit and gushes, "It was a good book, but my favorite author is Charles Dickens. Great Expectations is my go-to."

Vivian hums, "I haven't heard of it."

This, apparently, is blasphemy to one Gavin Clarke, who fervently responds, "I've got a copy in my dorm, if you want to borrow it."

She grabs his arm and the box of sugar quills he's still holding, and as they head off to the counter to pay for it, she says, "I'd love that. What else do you recommend?"

As Gavin launches into an explanation of all his recommendations, Sirius gapes at them in bewilderment. At his side, Marlene looks equally as bewildered.

"Uh…what just happened?" he wonders.

Marlene shrugs, "It was something nerdy, but I didn't follow it very well."

Sirius nods sagely. "Yeah. Neither did I." Then, turning his head to catch James's eye, he calls, "Oi, Prongs! D'you know some fellow named Charles Dickens?"

James is in the middle of shoving more chocolate frogs into Peter's arms. The question makes him shrug, looking a bit preoccupied. Chocolate comes before Sirius's obsessive stalking habits. His priorities are straight.

Remus, though, perks up at the name and musingly says, "He was a muggle author, I think."

The word 'muggle' makes Sirius immediately snort out a laugh. He snickers to himself and nudges Marlene with his elbow, though she's got little idea as to why he's so amused by this. He doesn't bother explaining it to her and just crows, "Oh Merlin, Godric's gonna have an aneurism when she finds out that Clarke's trying to make her read a _muggle_ book…"

And he keeps snickering even as he rejoins his friends and sighs, "That's what she gets for going on a date with that tosspot nerd, I guess."

Marlene just rolls her eyes and hooks her arm into his, dragging him off before he can start questioning Remus about Charles Dickens. Sirius doesn't look too happy to be pulled away from the mountain of candy in Peter's arms, but he can't stop his snickering even though he'd rather stay. No one tries to stop Marlene, though. (She's a force to be reckoned with.) No one stops to wonder why Sirius's laughter sounds a little off, either. (Chocolate comes first, after all.)

The reason for the forced laughter? Well, despite the fact that he's got no idea who Virginia Woolf or Charles Dickens is, or why the man's got great expectations and little else, Sirius is struck with a strange realization:

It looks like Vivian Blair and Gavin Clarke have more in common that he'd expected, and…he isn't entirely sure what to think about that.

* * *

"Sirius, _what_ are we doing?" Marlene demands, and rightfully so. When Sirius had asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him, she expected it to be similar to previous trips that they've gone on together. Sure, she isn't a huge fan of spending hours in The Bludgeoned Beater and ogling broomsticks and Quidditch supplies, but it's definitely better than lingering outside on the street, leaning against this lamppost and staring at everyone who walks past. Hell, she'd probably take all the Marauders over Sirius right now. At least they'd be fun to hang out with despite the way they make her want to pull her hair out when they're all together.

Sirius waves her words away and responds, "People watching, Marl. We're people watching," as if this is obvious and she really ought to be more excited.

Excited is the _last_ thing she is, though.

Across the way, sitting on a bench in the middle of a small courtyard, are the two people that Sirius is watching. He's doing a good job of not being overly transparent about it, though. Every time Marlene looks over at him, he turns his eyes to someone else as if he's just watching the world as a whole. Honestly, Marlene is mainly with him because he's a good kisser, so she doesn't really care that he's being so stupid. What she _does_ care about is that he's wasting her time.

"Well we've been _people watching_ for ages," she complains, and bends down a bit to rub at her ankle. She should've known better than to wear heels.

Sirius doesn't even bat an eye at her. He's too busy staring at the way Gavin Tosspot Clarke is gesticulating wildly. What could he _possibly_ be saying that's making Vivian smile like that? Clarke is a _Ravenclaw_. That means he's automatically a boring geek. Why is she _laughing?_

"Did you hear me?" Marlene impatiently asks.

Sirius glances over at her and says just as impatiently, "People watching is _fun,_ Marlene. Don't be such a bore."

She laughs incredulously. "Are you serious?" Then she quickly thrusts her finger into his face and says, _"Don't_ say it, Sirius. Merlin."

He innocently blinks. "Say what? I wasn't gonna say anything. If you don't want to people watch with me, you can go shopping. I'll wait for you."

Marlene skewers him with a narrowed look that, under normal circumstances, would've made him wary. It doesn't work this time, though, because he's already turned his eyes back to the bench and is having an inner monologue regarding why Clarke and Blair are sharing that box of sugar quills and how it isn't very sanitary and they ought to know better.

"…Are you _watching_ Vivian Blair?" Marlene asks in a weird tone, having evidently followed his gaze, only to realize that Blair and Clarke aren't that far away and have probably been sitting on that bench all along. She looks back at Sirius as if she thinks he's insane.

Sirius just shrugs, "Yeah, well, I'm thinking about pulling another prank on her, see? But I need to do some research to make sure it'll work out properly."

Marlene raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "…Really."

Sirius nods, his gaze stilled trained to the bench. Honestly, hasn't Clarke told her yet that Chaps Dittens is a muggle? Why isn't she freaking out? She should be hexing him for even suggesting it. That's naturally the only reason he thought it would be fun to people watch today. He's just waiting for her to give Clarke boils or something. It'd be a good laugh, is all. Ah yes – and the research, of course.

Marlene rolls her eyes. "You've never stalked someone for a prank _before."_

Sirius straightens up and gapes at her. "Oi! I'm not stalking anyone. I told you – "

"Yeah, okay. Let's just pretend that I actually believe you. I don't, by the way. All I care about is going to Puddifoot's for tea. You promised you'd take me there," she reminds him – no, demands, more like. Sirius cringes at the threat and silently bemoans the thought of having to step into Madam Puddifoot's, with all its glitter and confetti and_ pink._

Merlin, he _hates pink._

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he mutters, "Did I promise? I don't recall that."

She reaches out, grabs the collar of his shirt, and says, "Yes. Now let's go. I want to do some shopping first and you are _not_ going to stand around here on the curb and people watch like a weirdo."

As Marlene forcefully drags him away, Sirius glances back and shoots a glower at the bench. Honestly. What could they _possibly_ be talking about?

* * *

"She's not bad as far as writing goes, but _all_ of her novels are about marriage," Gavin complains, passing the box of sugar quills to Vivian.

She takes it, grabs a sugar quill, and waves it at him as she staunchly replies, "That's a major theme, but it isn't the only thing she writes about."

The bench they're sitting on overlooks the street. It's a smaller, quieter part of Hogsmeade that's slightly off the main road. There are a few other Hogwarts students milling around nearby, but Gavin and Vivian take no notice of them at all. They're a bit preoccupied with their discussion, which has gotten more and more heated the longer they've sat there.

Gavin, apparently, is not a fan of Jane Austen. He thinks her novels are too girly, and that if you read one, you've read them all. Vivian disagrees, of course. She thinks Clarke isn't being broad-minded enough to understand the subtle elements of Austen's time.

"Okay. Name three other themes that she explores," he challenges her, and grabs the box of sugar quills back.

Vivian glowers at him but doesn't complain, and just bites off the tip of her sugar quill. As it melts on her tongue, she huffs, "Fine. The social divide between classes. Education being the cornerstone of any respectable member of society. And…well, I suppose the third would be that all of her stories center around women instead of men, which is rare in that time because it was a man's world."

Gavin stares at her for a long moment before he mutters, "It's still all tied into romance and marriage, though."

She smirks. "I guess, seeing that forming a respectable connection is the most important thing for a woman in Austen's world."

_And in mine,_ she thinks. The words hang in the air between them, unvoiced but no less apparent. They are heavy things that sink into the edges of their conversation like barbs that cling to the sides of clothes, unnoticed for the most part by the casual observer, but tenacious enough to become more ensnared the longer they are left unattended.

Ravenclaws are known for their cleverness and wit, but there is another element to their characters that underlies these traits. After all, one cannot be wise if they are not curious. Curiosity is the force that drives learning. Without it, people would take the world at face value, never questioning their position in it nor wondering if there is another way to live. Gavin Clarke feels that curiosity now as it thuds through him and makes him wonder. He feels it in every space of his body, catapulting through him like a tall wave.

He glances at Vivian out of the corner of his eye, chewing on a sugar quill thoughtfully and thinking upon the conversation they've been swept up in for the past hour, ever since Vivian had sent the Marauders a rude hand gesture whilst dragging him out of Honeydukes. In the time since, they've gotten thoroughly swept up in talking literature, so much so that he hasn't stopped to question why Vivian Blair, pureblood Slytherin from a notoriously anti-muggle family, knows Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf and Oscar Wilde. How does she know who Thomas Hardy is? Why is she enamored with Rudyard Kipling?

He isn't sure if he should ask. She's a Slytherin, after all. Her reputation isn't exactly stellar. To be perfectly honest, he isn't even sure how she'd been appointed prefect at all. She certainly isn't the most responsible person he knows. Perhaps that's the strangest thing of all, though: this divide between who he thought she was and who she really is. It's as if there were blinders shrouding his vision of her, before. He could only see a shard of her character – just the small parts that she wanted him to see; the qualities that she projected in order to live up to the standards of her housemates. He wonders just how much of an illusion all of that really is.

The person sitting with him on this bench in Hogsmeade is not the elitist snob that he had mistook her for. She isn't cruel or malicious. She hasn't insulted him – really insulted him – once all day. Her backhanded comments are dry and sarcastic, but not intentionally vicious. She hasn't done any of the things he might have expected from her. She hasn't hexed him, or threatened him, or looked down on him at all. (Nerd comments aside, he sort of expected those.)

But, most shocking of all is that Vivian Blair is apparently obsessed with muggle literature, which is not something he could have predicted in a million years.

She glances over at him, and Gavin clears his throat before jerking his eyes away, pretending that he hadn't just been staring at her. It's fairly obvious that he had been, though, and Vivian suspects that she knows why. She's been waiting for him to ask all day. Waiting for him to wonder at the clear divide between Vivian Blair, cutthroat Slytherin, and Vivian Blair, closet romantic.

"I can practically hear your thoughts," she dryly informs him, and reaches over to grab the box of sugar quills with forceful intent. He lets her take them, looking over at her again and watching as she peers into the box and pulls out another quill. She nibbles off a bite of it as she leans back on the bench and crosses her legs.

Ah, yes. She looks quite Slytherin today, in her black clothes and her three-headed snake brooch. One might think it strange that she is spending time with someone like him. In fact, he's quite sure that everyone _does_ think it's strange, if the looks they've been receiving have any say on the matter. He's been overly aware of those glances for hours now, ever since they'd met up in the courtyard and started down the path to the village. He is as different from her as the sun is from the moon. And yet…

"You're a pureblood, is all," he says, and takes the sugar quill that Vivian offers with a demure flick of her wrist.

"Mmhmm," she hums, sounding bored.

He takes a bite and slowly continues, "And you read muggle books."

She hums again.

Gavin raises an eyebrow at her and wonders, "Why?"

The question makes her roll her eyes and sit up, turning to face him with an impatient expression blazing across her face.

"Does one need a reason to read a book?" she counters.

The corner of his mouth edges up. The Ravenclaw in him rather appreciates her response, if he's being honest. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and laughs a bit before conceding, "One _never_ needs a reason to read."

They stare at each other for one long moment before they both smile and lean back, the matter, evidently, being settled. In the peaceful silence that follows, Vivian reaches for another sugar quill, frowns, and sighs, "Shame. We've run out."

Gavin looks over at her and shrugs, "Should we go buy another box? I still have to explain why Dickens is better than Austen."

Vivian shoots him a look and says in a challenging tone, "You can try, Clarke, but you won't succeed."

He chuckles, "We'll see about that, Blair. Come on."

She gets up, brushes her robes out, and they pair of them start walking back towards the main street. As they go, Vivian sighs, "Those idiots had better be gone or I might accidentally hex them."

Gavin lifts a finger and says in his best prefect voice, "I would have to take house points if you did." When she sends him a raised eyebrow, he adds, "It's my duty, it's not personal."

She rolls her eyes. "It's _always_ personal. Besides, those ridiculous prats have it coming."

They rejoin the bustle of the other students, who are still doing their shopping, and ignore the looks that people give them. By now, it's a bit easier to pretend not to notice how incredulous it apparently is, seeing the pair of them together like this. Vivian doesn't care much either way. In her mind, this isn't even really a date, despite the fact that she is sort of enjoying herself. (A shock, truly, as she thought she'd have ditched Clarke within the first hour.)

Honeydukes is up ahead, and it's still as busy as it had been an hour ago. As they approach it, Gavin shrugs, "Boys are immature like that, when they're interested in a girl."

He thinks nothing of his words and just keeps walking, until he realizes that for some reason, Vivian has stopped in her tracks and is staring at him with a strange look on her face. He turns to her and raises an eyebrow, confused – until she blurts out, _"Interested?_ Maybe in killing me off."

That's when Gavin's confusion turns into amused incredulity.

"Oh come off it, Vivian. It's pretty obvious that Black is basically in love with you."

"Black? _Sirius_ Black? The _blood traitor_ Sirius Black?"

He wrinkles his nose distastefully and sighs, "I wish you wouldn't use those words – "

She just ploughs forward to adamantly say, "I could get mortally impaled and start gasping out my final breaths, and Sirius Black would laugh his head off and leave me to rot."

Gavin looks skeptical. "That's very graphic of you. Also, you're wrong."

As if she hadn't heard him, she adds, "And if our positions were reversed, I would laugh _my_ head off and leave _him_ to rot." She crosses her arms and sneers, "We hate each other and we always will."

Again, Gavin doesn't look convinced. He just shakes his head and replies, "I still think you're wrong. He wouldn't pay you so much attention if he really hated you. That's what boys do."

Vivian looks sickened at the mere thought, and Gavin decides not to broach the subject any further. It's clear that she doesn't much like the idea of forging anything but an extreme hatred with Sirius, and who is he to tell her to do anything otherwise? He still thinks that it's true though. Vivian just doesn't see it, because 1) she a girl and emotionally superior to Sirius Black where it matters (usually), and 2) she's clearly more intellectual than she lets on and therefore doesn't understand a concept that, by all rights, shouldn't make any sense at all.

Though he is a member of the male species, even Gavin has to agree that everybody has their faults. Of course, so does Vivian herself.

Instead of giving it any further thought, she just pushes past him and slams open the door to Honeydukes, apparently unwilling to venture any further down that particular topic. Blindly, she covers her eyes. The truth is sometimes too imposing to accept. Still waters run deep; sometimes so deep that their depth is fathomless.

Gavin just sighs. He could be wrong, he supposes. Perhaps Sirius Black really does hate Vivian Blair. Perhaps it's as genuine as Vivian thinks it is, and that there is no other aspect of it to question; no element of it to doubt. It's just that Gavin Clarke happens to be very observant, and he's seen the way Sirius looks at Vivian.

Those silver eyes have always been swayed, like a magnetic pulse that draws them to her a thousand times.

Somehow, he doesn't think that it would be an impossibility. After all, stranger things have happened. Larger divides have been crossed.

Even the fathomless depth of still waters can be navigated.

* * *

"So…Madam Puddifoot's?"

Vivian casts a disparaging glance at Clarke and wrinkles her nose. The expression immediately makes the corner of his mouth quirk up just so. His eyes twinkle a bit behind his thick-rimmed glasses, and when he responds, his voice holds traces of his amusement.

"I'd have been surprised if you'd said yes, to be honest," he shrugs, glancing across the street at the garish café. Madam Puddifoot's always looks like it's been attacked by a bomb of glitter. It's nearly impossible to miss, with all of its pink décor and cringeworthy centerpieces. As per usual on Hogsmeade trips, there is a conglomerate of students within, from various houses. It's the main place to go on a date, though in Clarke's humble opinion, it's a bit…well, flashy.

The lacy doilies and dried flower arrangements do make him pause, though. A subtle smirk catches his mouth.

"…It's all very Jane Austen, don't you think?" he wonders, just short of sly.

Vivian's mouth drops open in horror, and he bursts out laughing.

"Definitely not!" she denies, quite staunchly. Gavin just snorts out another laugh, and she narrows her eyes at him. "That's so not true and you know it."

"I mean, the doilies – "

"Oh stuff it, Clarke," she huffs, and powerwalks away. His longer legs easily catch up to her. She presses down the urge to trip him.

"'S fine. I'd rather not break my record of never stepping foot in that place anyhow," Clarke tells her as he matches her pace. This little backwards admission makes Vivian turn to raise an eyebrow at him, appearing a bit miffed.

"You've never been to Puddifoot's? Not even once?" she asks, and slows down her fast pace as curiosity gets a hold of her.

Gavin shrugs, looks somewhat hesitant for a moment, and then shrugs. "…I usually take my dates to the bookstore. Shut up," he quickly adds when Vivian immediately snorts in laughter.

She raises a hand to her mouth to hide her smile and drawls, "I knew it. You _are_ a nerd, you just don't want to admit it."

Gavin looks somewhat rumpled for a moment before he just rolls his eyes and playfully knocks his shoulder into hers. "I mean, bookstores are way better. Besides, I think you're a bit of a nerd too, Blair."

Vivian wrinkles her nose again and scoffs, "Except that I don't obsess over homework like you, or spend hours working out prefect schedules, or help my Head of House grade papers just for the hell of it – "

"Hey, I told you, I'd like to be a professor once I graduate Hogwarts!" he interrupts, reminding her of the conversation they'd had about why he had to move their meeting time back half an hour. Apparently, Flitwick had asked if he'd be interested in helping him that morning, and apparently, Clarke had figured that grading papers would be more fun than spending as much time in Hogsmeade as possible because he's weird like that.

Anyway –

"I don't spend hours working out prefect schedules, either," he grumbles, though he doesn't sound very insulted. Since spending more time with him, Vivian's come to realize that Gavin Clarke is actually quite good-natured, even though he always seems so strict and boring during prefect meetings. She'd been surprised to learn about this side of him.

Vivian sends him a smirking glance and drawls, "I'm just saying. Your schedules are really in-depth. Wanna go to the Three Broomsticks?"

Gavin sighs, "That's just how I think. I like schedules. And we should've gone an hour ago. It'll be really crowded now."

He does have a point. It _is_ really crowded. There are a ton of students inside the pub, snacking on side dishes and indulging in butterbeers. If Vivian wasn't so hungry, she'd probably suggest that they skip lunch altogether and just continue with their shopping, but even as she considers this, her stomach growls loud enough that they both hear it.

Vivian purses her lips, feeling her face flush a bit in embarrassment. Merlin, this is weirdly awkward all of the sudden – until Clarke coughs out a laugh and says, "…I guess we should feed the hungry Slytherin. I've heard they're prone to hexing people if they go without food."

And just like that, the awkwardness disappears. Vivian shoots him a look and huffs, "I'm slightly insulted by that."

Gavin just holds the door open for her and breezily responds, "Please take your anger out on someone else, then."

She gives him another look (which doesn't seem to lessen his amusement), and shoulders past him into the pub.

She's actually sort of glad that it's so busy, because no one really notices them in the crowd. The pair heads over to the counter to place an order, glancing around to see if there are any spare tables. There's a few over in the corner that aren't occupied. Gavin nods to one and says in his very logical voice, "You should go claim that before anyone else does."

She shrugs in agreement and leaves him at the counter, content with whatever he decides to order. She's never been a picky eater and has never had a meal here that she didn't like, so Vivian doesn't complain as she heads over to one of the empty tables and takes a seat. She's in the middle of unclasping her cloak when she hears someone hiss, "Seriously, Sirius?"

Another voice hisses, "I'm not in the mood for your jokes, Marl."

"It wasn't a joke. I'm literally asking you if you're being serious or just being dumb."

"That's a highly slanderous usage of my name – "

"Oh shut it, Sirius. You aren't actually – oh Merlin, why do I have to deal with this today?"

And then, suddenly, Vivian comes face to face with a certain blood traitor prat as he takes a seat at the table right next to hers. She leans forward to rest her face in her hands and wonders what the universe has against her. She also wonders why Sirius is so incredibly dense, but then again, she's always wondered that.

"What, no Puddifoot's today, Godric?"

Vivian sighs. So does Marlene, but she has apparently decided to go get a drink and leaves pretty quickly, without bothering to ask if her so-called date wants one.

"Obviously," Vivian drawls, and lifts her head out of her hands to see if Gavin has their orders yet. Unfortunately, he's still at the counter, fingers thrumming idly against the polished wood as he waits.

Sirius turns to look over at him, too, and frowns, "Had fun nerding out with Clarke today? I'm shocked you haven't hexed him yet."

Vivian rolls her eyes. She sends a sharp look at him, realizes how close their chairs are, and makes a show of scooting over as if she thinks he's the most disgusting creature she's ever seen. Sirius doesn't look overly impressed with this, but he just raises an eyebrow and doesn't comment.

Instead of falling for his bait, Vivian snarks, "Why are you sitting _right here_ when your friends are on the other side of the pub?" The sight of the other three Marauders is hard to miss, now that Vivian is looking around. They are, indeed, at a table on the other end of the pub, laughing and joking around together as usual. Whether they notice what their wayward friend is up to, Vivian doesn't know, but she's got a feeling that they're very much aware of Sirius's distraction. They are, after all, the Marauders: eternally attached at the hip and on the same idiotic brainwave.

Sirius shrugs. "I'm on a _date,"_ he responds, as if she should know better than to ask.

Vivian just makes a face at him and mutters, "You're on a _date,_ but your date is the one getting you food and doing all the work while you sit around like a lazy moron."

Sirius turns to her, flaps his mouth indignantly for a moment, and then settles with, "I'm not _lazy!" _That he makes no mention of not being a moron makes Vivian smirk.

He glowers at her and sniffs, "You're behind the times, Blair. Girls like taking the lead these days. I'm all for it."

She rolls her eyes. "You're such an idiot."

He shoots her another glower and then says, "I would've thought you'd be dying to go to Puddifoot's, seeing as you've probably never stepped foot inside. You had to force Clarke to go on a date with you, right?"

"I didn't force him. I asked, and he said yes," she drones in response.

"I heard you scared him into agreeing."

"I can't help it if I'm intimidating."

"You're downright freaky, Godric. That's not a compliment."

"I didn't think it was."

Sirius opens his mouth to retaliate, but before he can, Clarke arrives with their food. He looks a bit cautious as he sets a heaping plate of chips onto the table and slides a butterbeer over to Vivian. As he sinks into the chair opposite her, his eyes drift over to Sirius, obviously wondering why he's there. Vivian would like to know the answer to that, too.

"…Sirius," Clarke hesitantly greets, looking confused and a tad bit wary. He's never gotten along with Sirius Black. They don't talk much, but their personalities have never matched very well and they usually pretend that the other doesn't exist at all. To Vivian's knowledge, the only time they ever acknowledge each other is if Clarke has gotten roped up in the crossfire of a Marauder prank and is forced to dole out punishments.

Sirius eyes Gavin with a weird look in his eye and then gruffly mutters, "…Clarke."

Vivian rolls her eyes. Boys are so strange.

"You can leave now, blood traitor."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"I wasn't asking."

"We can co-exist peacefully if we try, Godric."

"I really don't think that's true. I already want to hex you across the pub."

"I doubt you could."

"Oh really – "

"Sirius, I think Marlene could use some help," Clarke interrupts suddenly, and gestures to the sight of Marlene as she tries to load her arms with several pints of butterbeer. Sirius lifts his head and blinks, as if he's only now remembering that Marlene even exists at all. His eyes clash with his date, who sends him a narrowed look full of silent warnings and threats that even give _him_ pause. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and even Sirius Black seems to know it.

He clears his throat and stands up, tosses Vivian one last glowering look, and lopes across the pub to assist. Vivian watches as he takes a few of the glasses from Marlene arms and tries to lead them back to the table he had just left – only for Marlene to grab his arm and forcefully drag him to a different one altogether, where some of her friends are sitting. She shoots Vivian a narrowed look as she goes, though Vivian isn't really sure why. Marlene should be used to Sirius's idiocy by now, especially when it comes to insulting her. He hates missing an opportunity.

She turns back to look at Gavin, only to find that he's already looking at her. There's a strange glint in his eye, as if he's thinking about something of considerable weight. When their eyes lock, though, he looks away, and Vivian isn't sure if she had been imagining it or not.

"So…Charles Dickens," he says, before she can ask about where his thoughts had led him.

And, just like that, she forgets about it entirely.

"Right. Charles Dickens is not better than Jane Austen," she promptly says, and she also forgets that Sirius Black exists and is, at this very moment, glowering over at her for reasons she doesn't care to know about.

Who needs Sirius Black when you can have a literary conversation with someone who actually knows what he's talking about?

Gavin smiles at her, and Vivian smiles back, and –

Across the pub, Sirius scoffs into his butterbeer.

* * *

By the time three o'clock rolls around, Clarke and Vivian have gone through another box of sugar quills, gotten a bit of shopping done, and had lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Vivian would have preferred to go to the Hog's Head, if only to avoid the staring, but the second, more run-down pub on the other side of Hogsmeade is Mulciber's usual hang out place. Anyway, the pair of them are milling about outside, awkwardly saying goodbye, when it happens.

"Good luck on your essay, I guess," Vivian shrugs.

Clarke immediately replies, "You really ought to head back soon as well, Vivian. I believe you've got the night patrol this weekend."

She's about to tell him to not bring his damned schedules into itwhen someone drawls, "Having fun with your mudblood pet, Blair? I hear they're all the rage these days."

Both Vivian and Gavin freeze. Then Vivian turns around to shoot a scathing glare at Mulciber, and Gavin ducks his head and pretends that he's invisible. As for Mulciber, he just crosses his arms and smirks proudly, no doubt smug about his ever so original insult.

Vivian is, again, about to open her mouth to respond, but she doesn't get the chance before someone _else_ snaps, "Move along, everyone. It isn't the time nor the place for this."

They all turn to see Lily Evans with _her_ arms crossed, glaring at Mulciber just as scathingly as Vivian is. Mulciber raises an eyebrow, nudges Lucius Malfoy, who is standing next to him looking eternally bored, and crows, "Looks like this place is _full_ with mudbloods today, isn't it?"

Lily bristles. Vivian purses her mouth. That particular word is, in some ways, just as bad as being called a blood traitor, for which Vivian has to admit she uses quite a lot. However, there is something about it that leaves a more bitter taste on the tongue. It's more taboo and Mulciber knows it, which is why _he_ uses it frequently.

Annoyed now, as she always is when Mulciber shoulders his way into her life, Vivian snarks, "Don't lose us any house points, Mulciber. You're currently talking to two prefects and one Head Girl."

The reminder doesn't seem to faze him, not that she's surprised. Mulciber and his friends seem to have lost all interest regarding silly, mundane things like the House Cup. It isn't nearly important enough for them anymore, not with all the _other_ extracurriculars they're involved with, such as torturing muggleborns and proving themselves to the Dark Lord. No, she's not surprised that her warning hardly makes him bat an eye. What she _is_ surprised at is the way someone else suddenly pops into the conversation just as quickly as Lily had.

"Correction: _three_ prefects, one Head Girl, and one Head Boy," James Potter says as he sidles his way into the confrontation.

What is this, a free for all? Vivian sighs and decides that she really shouldn't be surprised that Potter has joined the conversation. He's probably been lowkey stalking Evans all day. Wherever she goes, he goes. It's creepy as hell.

They all turn to James, who is standing with _his_ arms crossed as Remus and Peter flank him on either side. The former has his head held high; the latter looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. As for the fourth Marauder, well…

"What's this, having fun without me?" Black wonders as he catches sight of them all. Marlene McKinnon is noticeably absent. Vivian wonders if he'd ditched her.

Theodore Avery jeers, "Ah, now everyone is here – the mudbloods and the blood traitors alike." When he says 'blood traitors', he casts a sharp, warning look at Vivian, who stiffens in surprise and promptly frowns.

She is _not_ a blood traitor. She went on one date with a muggleborn – who she didn't even know was a muggleborn until recently – and now her housemates want to call her a traitor? She narrows her eyes at Avery.

Now, the Marauders aren't in the business of protecting someone like Vivian Blair. They would sooner let her fight her own battles than ever help her out. She's a _Slytherin,_ and that means she's their natural enemy. On any normal day, they would turn their heads and pretend not to notice. However, today is not a normal day. Today, Lily and Gavin are a part of this, too.

"Why don't you scurry along like the snakes you are and stop wasting our time?" Sirius drones, sounding supremely bored, as if Mulciber's group are just dirt beneath his shoes.

James is quick to add, "Yeah, you guys must be even stupider than you look if you really think we're gonna let you get away with messing with our friends right in front of us."

Vivian shifts awkwardly on her feet at James's words, glancing off to the side as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her cloak. She knows well enough that he hadn't actually included her in his group of friends, which only makes her feel that much weirder to be a part of this confrontation. Quite suddenly, she isn't sure which side she belongs to. Mulciber's, or James's? She wonders if she would even be welcome on either side, or if she's destined to forever remain somewhere in the murky grey area between the two. The thought makes her twist her mouth, feeling very out of her comfort zone.

It's strange. She's never questioned this before. She's never stopped to consider such an impalpable topic. After all, she's a Slytherin, and Slytherins stick together. So – why does it suddenly feel as though she is standing by herself in this crowd of people, belonging to no one at all, like a jetty striking out into the sea? The ocean waves laps at it on all sides except for one, and the sandy bank that connects it to the beach clings to it even as the sea swallows the rocks; an eternal outcast that belongs to neither and yet coexists with both.

This is, perhaps, the greatest desire of the human soul: to belong and to be necessary.

"You should've brought a collar for your pet, Blair. You've got to train these creatures if you want them to live out their usefulness," Avery drawls, not giving Potter or Black the time of day. The two of them bristle at being ignored so thoroughly, and they are not the only ones.

Lily sets her jaw, while Remus cautiously slides his hand into his pocket where his wand is no doubt located. Peter shuffles back a bit, looking like he'd much prefer running in the other direction than ever getting involved in this situation. Beside her, Gavin clenches his fists and glares at the ground, but he doesn't lift his head to respond with any of the wit that he'd shown during their day together. She wonders how hard it is for him to clamp his mouth shut and remain silent, when she knows damn well, by now, just how much he's got to say.

"You're just _asking_ to get hexed," Black sneers, and pulls out his wand. It's the silent cue that Mulciber and his group have been waiting for. Within moments, they've all got their wands out, too, along with the Marauders. Well, Peter is a bit slower than the rest, and he's gripping his wand with shaking fingers, but still.

Vivian represses a sigh and, out of the corner of her mouth, she whispers, "Just go back to the castle, Clarke."

Gavin glances over at her. His brows are pulled down and his face is arranged in an expression of hesitant wariness, but his eyes – they're gleaming with a resolute determination that makes it clear to Vivian that he isn't going to do as she says. Usually _Gryffindors_ are the stubborn ones.

Severus Snape apparently overhears Vivian's hiss, because he drawls, "Listen to your master, Clarke," while casting Vivian a disparaging look. He hasn't forgotten the other night, then, and he obviously hasn't forgiven her for it.

Gavin stiffens even more. Vivian glares. Wands are raised and spells are imminent, but suddenly the tables are turned when Lily steps forward to angrily say, "If you won't listen to reason, then perhaps I'll take this to the Headmaster. I'm sure he'd take this all very seriously. Maybe he'll even _expel_ you all for improper conduct."

Vivian almost tells her that such an event is very unlikely, but she keeps her mouth firmly shut instead. The pureblood families donate quite a lot of money to the school on an annual basis, and their connections to the Ministry's Department of Magical Education runs deep. The Headmaster has plenty of power, but Vivian isn't sure that it would be so simple, expelling any of Mulciber's friends for something as slight as a few insults. Sure, the insults definitely go above and beyond, but the fact of the matter is that Dumbledore's power only extends so far.

She keeps quiet about it, though. She is between two worlds right now and it isn't a very good place to be. Outwardly defending Potter and his friends would have catastrophic consequences for her regarding the other Slytherins; joining Mulciber and his insults would go against some integral part of her that she is only now realizing exists at all, as she stands there in that gray middle ground and wonders what she should do.

Mulciber catches her eye and raises an eyebrow at her, as if he's silently telling her not to get in his way. She holds his gaze with a resolution that the rest of her doesn't feel. It is a glamour, if anything. A veneer to stave off the weaker parts of her. The parts that are seconds away from giving in to the boisterous ocean as it jolts against her.

In a seemingly calm voice, Mulciber holds up his hands and nods at Avery, who in turns glances at the others and slowly puts his wand away. As the rest of them follow suit, Mulciber shrugs, "We were just stating the obvious, Evans. No need to get all Head Bitch on us."

Vivian doesn't think she's ever seen Lily's eyes get that furious. Or James's, for that matter.

"You'll pay for that, Mulciber," Potter growls, much to Lily's surprise. She looks over at James with a weird look blazing through her eyes. It's half angry and half unsure, and it is difficult to tell which emotion is stronger.

Before James can cast the spell that he's undoubtedly about to, though, Gavin sighs impatiently and steps forward, grabbing his wrist and tugging it down as he demands, "Oh, just calm down. You're supposed to be _Head Boy_. You can't get into a sparring match like this." Then, clearly aggravated, he turns to Mulciber and barks, "Fifty points from Slytherin, and it'll be more if you don't leave."

They immediately erupt into guffawing laughter, clearly amused at Gavin's attempt at ordering them around. Honestly, house points don't matter to them at all, but to Vivian…

She grumbles a bit and glares at Mulciber in annoyance. Honestly. Fifty points! That'll take Slytherin ages to get back. She really wants to beat Gryffindor this year, too. It's a matter of pride at this point. And – a desperate need to wipe the smug smile off of Black's face, naturally. He doesn't look very smug now, though, even though his rival house has just lost fifty points. No, he looks like he's ready to pull his wand back out and do battle if necessary, at any moment. He'd probably _love_ to have an excuse to start a fight…

Avery opens his mouth, probably about to insult Gavin, but Vivian snaps, "Just leave, you idiots. Fifty points! Merlin. You're all so fucking stupid. What is it with men, anyway?"

Her outburst makes them all turn and stare at her with varying degrees of surprise, but Vivian doesn't even notice. She's too annoyed at the male population as a whole. Why, Elizabeth would sooner battle with wit alone than drawl out the insipid insults that Mulciber likes to slur! Emma would balk at this whole dishonorable situation! Anne would be shocked and horrified at the ridiculous immaturity of the male population.

Vivian glares over at Mulciber and demands, "Hurry up and leave before you lose anymore house points, you idiot."

Mulciber gapes at her. If Vivian could see beyond the haze of her own anger, she'd notice that the entire group is gaping at her, with different degrees of emotion. The Slytherins look a bit rattled and a bit pissed off. Gavin looks like he thinks that Vivian is a loose cannon that's about to explode, and judging from the way his eyes continuously move over her face, he isn't sure if he's excited or nervous about it. Lily Evans seems vaguely impressed while simultaneously looking extremely wary, as if she too expects that Vivian might explode and make the situation even worse. As for the Marauders…

Well, Potter doesn't seem to know what to think, because he's just gaping stupidly at her, clutching his wand loosely as it falls to his side. Pettigrew is too busy staring at the ground to bother gawking at her. Remus is wearing a cool expression, as if he isn't actually that surprised and is just waiting to see what happens next. It's Sirius's reaction that really speaks volumes, though. He's staring at Vivian with a strange light in his eye, as if he's never seen her before. That gray gaze is filled with an indecipherable edge. It's both hard and soft, like a break in a storm as the wind pushes at a particularly dark cloud and the rain halts for one tremulous moment. The sun tries to beam through the cloudy curtain, and for the faintest second, its rays can just barely be seen as they splinter through the overcast gray, before another cloud takes its place and the storm begins all over again.

Vivian doesn't notice it, of course. She's too busy waiting for Mulciber to draw his wand and hex her, because he looks like he's literally seconds away from doing just that.

"…I'll definitely have to do something about that mouth of yours, Blair. You're not quite the silent, invisible wife that I'm hoping for," he murmurs after one tense moment.

She stiffens, and her eyes fill with fire. It is difficult to explain the emotion that shutters through her at that moment. It's like her soul is suddenly filled with a battering wind that unforgivably plunges through the heart of her. It's like a wildfire in a barren, icy wasteland; the fire shouldn't catch at all, and yet the flames spark like electrical wires shooting into the gust, and not even the ice and the snow and the frigid air can dampen them.

She steps forward, prepared to dive right into the tempest, but then –

A fist grabs the back of her cloak to heave her backwards, and Sirius Black drawls, "Here's another thought, Mulciber: you and your little Death Eater friends listen to Blair and get the hell out of here, and we won't target you with the worst pranks we can think of for the rest of the school year."

This time, everyone turns to gape at Sirius, who is still clutching the back of Vivian's cloak with tight, grasping fingers, as if he's afraid that if he releases his hold of her, she'll get another stupid idea that will rile Mulciber up even more.

Snape huffs, "You think that's going to _frighten_ us?"

Potter snarks, _"You_ of all people should know how we get revenge, Snivellus, or do you want a refresher course?"

Avery opens his mouth, probably to say something stupid, but that's about the time when Professor Slughorn stumbles upon them, and even though Vivian's never much liked him, she's relieved when he suddenly ambles right through their confrontation and sends them all weird looks. She's not sure if he means to appear so baffled when it's fairly obvious what's going on, or if it's a calculated move to not ruffle any feathers and to maintain a firm middle ground for any future connections he might form with his students. One can never be too certain, with him.

"What are you all doing, standing around here on this fine day? Go on and have fun!" he buoyantly tells them, and it's enough to make Mulciber and his group step down. As if turning into an entirely different person, he sends Slughorn what he probably thinks is a charming smile (it really isn't) and shrugs it all off.

"We were just asking about some homework that was assigned the other day, professor," Mulciber drawls. His innocent voice is rather cringeworthy.

Sirius retaliates with a quick, "And _we_ were telling them that if they're too stupid to remember simple things, they should write their assignments down."

Mulciber glares. Slughorn raises his eyebrows.

"You _should_ write your assignments down, Adrian my boy. It is NEWTs year, after all. Now how about we all head over to the Three Broomsticks for a nice pint of butterbeer? Shall we?"

Mulciber shoots them all one last, dark glower, but within seconds, the other Slytherins grudgingly follow Slughorn to the pub down the street, and the rest of them breath in a sigh of relief. They all linger there for one long moment, and then Vivian realizes something.

She turns on her heel to face Sirius, knocks his hand off of her cloak, where it's still lingering, and shoots him a weird look. He just raises an eyebrow at her.

"What did you just do?" Vivian demands.

Sirius crosses his arms. "Dunno. What _did_ I just do?"

"You just defended me."

He pauses, then shrugs, "No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"Look, Blair, don't read into it so much. Insulting Mulciber was my priority."

Vivian sends him a suspicious look, to which he raises his eyebrows higher and tilts his head. Their eyes clash, gray to brown. One gaze, a stormy thunderclap; the other holding traces of wildfire.

"…Don't do it again," Vivian tells him.

Sirius scoffs. "I won't," he says, as if it's obvious. She's not sure she believes him, because her eyes narrow a bit more and her mind is suddenly filled with Gavin's words from a few hours ago.

_It's pretty obvious that Black is basically in love with you. He wouldn't pay you so much attention if he really hated you. That's what boys do._

…Is it? Boys are pretty stupid, she supposes. They're backwards and they like to pretend to be idiots just for a few laughs. The Marauders are incredibly smart beneath their trickster side, but they cover it all up for their inane pranks and witless commentary. But – there's just no way that Gavin had been right. The thought of Sirius _liking_ her is utterly laughable.

She studies the look in Sirius's eye for a long moment before glancing over at Gavin, who is still standing beside her. The Ravenclaw prefect gives her a look that requires absolutely no words at all, and Vivian fights back a wave of nausea.

She turns back to Sirius to raise a finger and firmly demand, "If you ever defend me again, I _will_ toss you into the Black Lake and let the giant squid eat you for breakfast."

Sirius snorts and raises his hands, taking a generous step back. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but is interrupted by a girlish voice that shouts his name, and suddenly Sirius is cussing and throwing himself behind Vivian because she's the closet person to him.

"Shit – just stand still, Blair, Merlin. Stop moving so much."

Vivian steps to the side, and then to the other side, and glowers at Sirius with an annoyed look on her face when he decides to randomly become her shadow.

"Go away," she hisses at him.

He glares right back and doesn't respond.

"Padfoot, I really don't know why you think it's a good idea to hide behind Blair. She's basically a midget," Potter says, and Vivian turns her glare to him next.

"Why're you trying to hide to begin with?" Peter wonders, still looking around as if he's afraid that Mulciber et al with make a sudden reappearance.

Sirius impatiently replies, "Because – Marl wants to go to Puddifoot's and I would rather strangle myself!"

Vivian smirks and drawls, "I'd offer to help, but the thought of touching you makes me sick."

"Oh shut it, Godric. Quit moving around."

"No."

"This wouldn't be such a big deal if things had gone according to plan," Sirius mutters, peering around Vivian's head to catch sight of Marlene, who is a bit too far down the street to see any of the Marauders yet.

Honestly. If Vivian had taken Tosspot Clarke to Puddifoot's like he'd expected, then he wouldn't have had to ditch Marlene at all. It's all Blair's fault, really.

"Hey, McKinnon!" Vivian shouts suddenly, much to Sirius's dismay. He makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a squeal and a curse and slaps his hand over her mouth without thinking, trying to drown out her words before they can draw Marlene's attention.

The other Marauders watch with dry amusement as Vivian elbows him in the gut and Sirius keels over with a groan.

"_Merlin's balls – "_

"You should stop while you're ahead, Padfoot," James says.

Remus nods sagely. "You might want to run. Marlene's coming this way."

Vivian turns to him and crosses her arms. "Yeah, shove off already."

Sirius pouts at his friends, glares at Vivian, and bemoans, "Nothing's working out like I thought it would."

Off to the side, Gavin rolls his eyes. "Vivian, maybe we should just head back to the castle together. I can go get my copy of Great Expectations if you want."

Vivian shrugs in agreement. Sirius skewers Gavin with an annoyed look. The Marauders smirk, and one Lily Evans steps forward to say, "Charles Dickens? He's great. D'you mind if I tag along?"

This time, James also sends Gavin an annoyed look. Gavin doesn't even notice. He's too busy heading back up to the castle with two girls on either side, laughing and being a general nerd with James and Sirius's ladyloves – er.

Well, I suppose we ought not get ahead of ourselves. Fate, after all, needs a bit more time to unfold.


	17. A verbis ad verbera

**Chapter Seventeen | A verbis ad verbera**

**[From words to blows]**

It's strange, how connections can be formed from a seemingly unimportant event. Chance is the device of fate; an elusive instrument for which destiny is propelled, but destiny is such a hollow concept, and humans are rarely able to grasp its simplicities. We do not often understand the uncomplicated facets of it. We, who prefer the complex; who flourish in the labyrinths of our own minds. We who falter in the face of the unsophisticated ordinary.

Why do we feel the need to muddle through the shades of chance? Not everything has a deeper explanation. Some things are exactly the way they appear, and nothing more and nothing less.

The Black Lake is stretched out before her as she sits at its banks. So far, it's been a quiet morning. Sundays often are. The chill of early autumn has traced the landscape with its frosted fingers, but it is not yet cold enough to last for very long once the sun has broached the sky. Now, several hours into morning, the chill has all but disappeared, and there is only the faintest trace of it upon the breeze.

Vivian enjoys the dawn most of all. It is a rare sliver of peace that some integral part of her needs, so as to balance out the rest of the chaos. She prizes these small shards of quiet above all else. Perhaps it is the result of her lack of siblings, but the hours in which she can be truly alone, immersed in her own thoughts and in the stillness of the world, is important to her. She doesn't like to share it.

"What're you reading, Godric?"

Vivian sighs.

"Don't you have someone to terrorize, blood traitor?" she drawls, closing her book and tucking it out of sight. She doubts that Sirius Black has either the literary inclination to know who Charles Dickens is, let alone that he would care enough to want to know anything about her. Still, one can never be too careful. Imagine what he'd say if he knew that she reads muggle books in her spare time. Just the thought of his condescending remarks makes her annoyed.

Sirius shrugs, and snarks, "Why do you think I'm here?"

She narrows her eyes and looks over at him. To be perfectly honest, she doesn't have a clue as to why he's here. It couldn't be because he'd seen her from the castle. The bank that she's sitting on is too far away from the castle to see very clearly. From such a distance, it would be impossible to tell who she is. She would only be a random student dressed in the standard Hogwarts robes, the Slytherin emblem hidden by the stretch of space between the Black Lake and the entranceway.

So why is he here? He couldn't have wanted to take a stroll all by his lonesome. The other Marauders aren't anywhere in sight – at least, to her knowledge – and Sirius Black never goes anywhere without them, unless he's parading around in broom closets or sulking near the astronomy tower, impatiently waiting for his latest fling to arrive. Not that Vivian knows how often he does either of those things. Personally, she's never actually caught him in a broom closet yet, though it happens to be one of her seventh-year goals. (Because then she could take a ton of house points away from Gryffindor _and_ annoy him at the same time. Win-win.) Anyway – she doesn't really know if Sirius Black is actually the slut that everyone says he is or if that's all just rumor and speculation brought on by the gossip mills of the school and/or freakishly vengeful ex-girlfriends. She likes to think that he's the biggest man-slut to ever walk the earth, though. He certainly doesn't do anything to dispel the rumors. In fact, most of the time, he seems to revel in them.

Anyway – the important question here isn't whether Sirius Black is a whore. What Vivian really wants to know is why he's interrupting her peace and quiet when he's never gone out of his way to do so before.

"…Why are you _really_ here?" she demands, wondering if he's about to pull out a dungbomb from his pocket and hurl it at her. She eyes him suspiciously, taking in the wind-swept hair and the rolled up sleeves and the casually rumpled shirt, and narrows her eyes. His gaze is oddly blanketed. It reminds her of the faint beginnings of a storm on the very edge of the horizon, before you know what direction it's moving in, or if you ought to get out your umbrella or just brave the world as you are.

Sirius shrugs and throws himself onto the ground beside her. It's weird enough to make Vivian immediately shift over, looking at him as if he's got a rare disease that she doesn't want to catch. Her deliberate movement only makes him smirk at her, of course. Nothing ever seems to faze the Great Sirius Black. (Little shit that he is.)

"I had a revelation, is all," he says, blinking at her like a cat might blink in the face of danger, eternally undaunted.

Vivian heard, once, that cats and snakes are mortal enemies, and that if a cat sees a snake – or even an object that looks like a snake – something in their DNA revolts within them and makes them leap away. If that's true, then it certainly doesn't seem to apply to him.

He glances at the book that's tucked into her robes. Only the edge of it is visible. The golden leafing is utterly gorgeous. Apparently, Gavin Clarke likes his collectable editions. Either that or he really is obsessed with this Dickens fellow, which wouldn't be that shocking seeing as he'd spent the entirety of yesterday trying to convince her that Charles Dickens is ten times better than Austen. She still doesn't appreciate that, but she will admit that he's not the worst author to ever exist. The fact that Sirius seems oddly fascinated with the book she's holding definitely makes Vivian more on edge than before, though, and she shoves it further into her robes with a sneer.

"We all know that your IQ is too low for thinking, Black," she snipes at him, and he smirks wider.

With a shrug, he drawls, "No really, here's my theory: so after searching for that Austen lady in the library and not finding any trace of her, I realized that the likely reason for this is because she's a _smut writer." _He waggles his eyebrows at her and then goes on to breezily add, "Naturally, an esteemed school like Hogwarts would never have smutty books in its library. I did find it strange that Pince didn't recognize her name, though, seeing as I'm 90% positive that she secretly reads erotic novels in her spare time."

Upon finishing his speech, he stares at her and awaits her reaction. Said reaction isn't as impressive as he expects, though. All Vivian does is let out an exasperated noise and reach up to massage her forehead, as if she thinks he's the stupidest person on the planet and has literally no words to describe his idiocy in an accurate, justifiable way.

"Smut?" she repeats after a moment.

Sirius grins. "Let's face it, Godric. The only action you'll ever see is between the pages of a book."

"…Smut?" she says again, as if she hadn't heard him.

He raises an eyebrow to quizzically (and patronizingly) ask, "You _do know_ what smut is, right? I mean, you can't be _that_ pathetic." Then he pauses and shrugs, "Well, I guess you can – "

"Madam Pince does not read erotic novels in her spare time," Vivian cuts in, apparently finding her voice.

Sirius jumps in the moment she does to argue, "I saw her _giggling_ to herself once when I was on my way to – well, let's just say I had some books to take out."

Vivian immediately wrinkles her nose in disgust. Everyone knows what sorts of _books_ Sirius Black _takes out_ in the unused aisles of the library.

He waves the words away, completely nonchalant about his obvious confession, and adds, "Anyway, she was definitely blushing and fanning herself. Though I guess she could've just been getting – what're those things called? – hot flashes." He nods to himself, looking pleased that he had remembered this strange and unfamiliar phenomenon.

Vivian shoots him an unimpressed glower and pushes herself onto her feet. As she does, she snaps, "You're such a fucking idiot. Pince isn't even forty years old yet. Hot flashes! Merlin, boys are so _stupid."_

Sirius opens his mouth to defend himself, but Vivian is already stalking away from the Black Lake with an expression of extreme disdain, her book tucked firmly beneath her arm and her hand slipped into her pocket where her wand is. Just in case.

"Hey – you don't have to be all embarrassed that you read smutty novels, Blair. It's not like you'll ever get a guy to kiss you anyhow, let alone – "

"Oh shut up. We're not all womanizing arseholes like you."

"Yeah, about that. Copying those lines and sending them around the school was a shit move on your part, Godric."

"Please. If anything, I _helped_ your reputation."

"_Helped_ my reputation?"

"Yeah. Everyone's really proud of you for admitting that you're a womanizer. You really brought Gryffindor honor, being so honest about your vices."

"My _vices?"_

Vivian swings around to face him, so quickly that Sirius, who isn't expecting the movement, immediately stops and backs up a bit to ensure that he isn't walking so close to her. She looks at him distastefully for one long moment before rolling her eyes and turning around again. The moment she resumes walking, he resumes the proximity that he had only just scorned, and hurries to fall into step beside her.

"Girls come onto _me,_ I'd just like to point out," he staunchly tells her, his long strides easily keeping up with hers. "I can't help it that I'm irresistible to all women." Vivian shoots him a disgusting look, and he snorts. With a smirking shrug, he tells her, _"You're_ not a woman, Godric. Far from it, really."

"And you're a brainless moron," she replies breezily.

"I'm at the top of the class," he reminds her, just as breezily.

"That's only because you use your body to get you places."

"Well I might as well use what I've got, don't you think?"

"What I think is that you're a revolting piece of trash – "

"Ha! Well _someone_ obviously woke up on the Death Eater side of the bed this morning."

" – and you're a narrowminded arsehole who thinks that all purebloods are destined to join the Dark Lord, despite the fact that you yourself have successfully overturned that notion." Then, pausing, Vivian smirks and looks over at him. Their eyes catch, locking together like spinning atoms, and she sneers, "Or have you, I wonder?"

The question immediately makes Sirius stop walking. Vivian continues for a few paces, but she stops when he hotly demands, "What's that supposed to mean, Blair?"

If she was a better person, she wouldn't delve into the statement any further. If she was a better person, she would leave him here and pretend that this entire conversation hadn't even occurred at all. But – she's not a better person. She's never been a better person.

She turns to catch his eye again and tilts her head. His shoulders are tense with an anger that is clearly reflected in his eyes as they stare her down. Sometimes, Vivian is struck by the similarities she sees in him; the pieces of Slytherin that shines through whenever he is upset or being rude to someone. She wonders if he knows what it is that he possesses, this sliver of vengefulness. To be a Slytherin isn't to be evil, but ambition and cunning have their ways of layering over a personality, and she sees those layers as clear as day in the haughty look he's sending her.

Yes, if she was a better person, she would allow him to think that he's Gryffindor through and through. That he's managed to shake all traces of his family's grip upon him. That it's perfectly fine for him to hate Slytherin, because after all, it isn't as if he has any of those attributes in him.

But he isn't a Gryffindor through and through, and he hasn't managed to shake all traces of his family from him, and he does have Slytherin in his blood, whether he likes it or not. And besides all that, Vivian Blair doesn't even want to be a better person.

She smirks, and meanly wonders, "Who's to say that you won't go back to your family after your graduate? Maybe you're planning on getting your own Dark Mark after school. You are a Slytherin after all, deep down."

It's curious. Vivian has seen Sirius get angry so many times in the past that she thought she knew every single side of his fury. His grey eyes have a way of shining with sparks of silver whenever he's truly mad. She's spent the last seven years indirectly memorizing every expression of anger and every telltale mannerism that preludes it. And yet…

Apparently, calling him a Slytherin draws forth a fury that she has never seen before. It's like the wave of a storm upon the open ocean, cresting into the sky so strongly that it casts shadows upon its hapless victims who swim below it. It rises and sweeps those victims into its current, gusting them backwards even as they try to pull away. Then, crashing, it swallows them so thoroughly that they are pulled so far under, the only thing they know is the foreign, unnatural pitch of the dark, cold sea.

"I'm a _Gryffindor,"_ he growls at her, hands shaking as he curls them into fists. A snapping breeze shudders over them, catching their clothing in its grip before darting away. For the faintest second, it's like the entire world is put on hold as the wind tumbles past. And then Sirius pulls his wand out, and the hold is broken.

Vivian pulls her wand out too, eyeing him cautiously. She isn't sure that she's ever seen him so furious before. Had she crossed a line? She'll have to remember this reaction of his. After all, crossing lines is just what they do. There aren't any boundaries set between Sirius Black and Vivian Blair, nor will there ever be.

They fight like wildfire. They love like –

"_Flippendo!" _Sirius exclaims, and Vivian barely manages to sidestep.

She sneers at him and waves her wand with a quick, precise, _"Densaugeo."_

Sirius throws up a brief ward and it bounces harmlessly away. Before the spell dissipates completely, he's muttering, _"Confringo,"_ and sending the explosive hex towards her.

She laughs cuttingly and knocks it away with a protective sweep of her wand.

"_Incarcerous!"_

"_Protego – Petrificus Totalus!"_

"_Rictusempra!"_

"Don't you have any evil hexes to throw at me, Blair? That's childplay," Sirius sneers.

She hisses, _"Stupefy! Furnunculus!", _and he narrowly avoids getting struck with the dual casting as both spells zoom past him, his quick reflexes his only salvation.

Well…perhaps for now, it is more apt to focus on the part where they fight like wildfire, because love has no room to grow between the walls of these flames. Not yet. Neither does tolerance, in this instance.

McGonagall's sharp voice cuts through the windy grounds, and suddenly the makeshift duel is put on hold for the time being.

"You two! Stop immediately!" The witch is a force to be reckoned with as she charges across the grounds to where they are standing. Before they'd started tossing hexes at each other, they'd made it about halfway to the castle. The entranceway is still a ways off, but McGonagall crosses it in record time, her robes battering out behind her with all the fury that burgeons over her face. The moment she's close enough, she exclaims, "Dueling in the middle of the grounds like two halfwit fools! Why, Salazar and Godric are surely turning in their graves to see such a sight! Come with me, the both of you!"

She gives them a hawkish, narrowed look that does wonders at ridding the air of the tension it had previously held. In its place is a wayward sort of hollowness; the sensation that they have not properly hashed it out in a way that clears the air. Instead, the atmosphere between the two is almost constraining in its rigidity, and even as McGonagall leads them into the castle and past the Great Hall, Vivian and Sirius are struck with a strange feeling of not living up to their full potential.

What that potential is – whether it's to truly cause the other harm or to do something else entirely – well, that is a mystery.

Vivian has only been in Dumbledore's office once before, back in fourth year when she and a couple of other Slytherins got caught up in a heated argument with the Marauders outside of the Potions classroom. She doesn't recall who had instigated the situation. Knowing her house, it had probably been a mixture of the two groups. Regardless, they'd ended up in a bit of a sparring match that had included both magic as well as fists, and Slughorn had dragged them all to the Headmaster because he must have known that he wouldn't have been able to stop them himself. Fights between Gryffindor and Slytherin oftentimes need a bit more authority to truly put a stopper on. That said, she's never been inside the Headmaster's office since then, though she probably deserved to be several times over.

"This is your fault," Sirius hisses at her as they follow McGonagall through the upper halls. Since it's a Sunday, there aren't very many students milling around. Most of them are either in their common rooms or in some other part of the castle, enjoying time with their friends or getting assignments finished up for the upcoming school week. By the end of the day, those few people who _had_ seen them will no doubt tell their friends, who will spread the news to other acquaintances, until rumor and speculation will undoubtedly spread into a conglomerate of lies. The rumor mills are never to be taken lightly.

Vivian spears him with a sneering glance and murmurs, _"You're_ the one who tried to hex me."

He scoffs. "You insulted me."

"_You_ insulted _me."_

"You called me a _Slytherin."_

"That's a compliment, you moron."

Sirius sends her a murderous look and opens his mouth, but McGonagall interrupts with a sharp, "Quiet, you two. Pumpkin Fizz."

In lieu of their hushed but no less furious arguing, neither of them had realized that they had arrived. When the gargoyle statues spring aside to allow them entrance into the spiraling staircase, though, the both of them grudgingly obey McGonagall and fall silent once more as they follow her into the tower. The doors close behind them with a loud and reverberating thud.

"The Headmaster doesn't have time to deal with two unruly children, but this has gone on too far," McGonagall impatiently says as she climbs the stairs in front of them. Her long robes drag over the stone steps. She looks and sounds quite exasperated, and very disappointed with them. Sirius and Vivian aren't overly bothered by it, of course. In their respective minds, the other had deserved worse than they'd got.

"What, precisely, has gone on too far, Minerva?" a voice wonders at the top of the stairs. Dumbledore is standing there with his arms behind his back. His eyes are twinkling in an oddly lighthearted way, as if the sight of Sirius and Vivian is only a source of amusement to him – a trifle, and little else. He smiles at them and draws out a hand, gesturing for them to step into his office as McGonagall comes to a halt beside him on the top of the staircase.

She casts a tightly pursed look at them and says, "They were _dueling_ on the _grounds,_ Albus. It was highly irresponsible of them – "

"Ah yes, duels are a tricky business. Who won, might I ask?" Dumbledore musingly wonders as he follows the two students into his office. McGonagall pauses, sends him an exasperated look, and sweeps into the room after him. She doesn't seem very surprised at his reaction, though she does look like she wishes it was more serious.

"I _would've_ won, if Minnie hadn't interrupted," Sirius immediately says, and McGonagall sends him a stern look at the misuse of her name.

Vivian glowers at him. "I highly doubt that. You can't duel to save your life."

He pushes his shoulders back and snipes, "Please. I've beat you in _plenty_ of – er, I mean, I've never been in a duel before, of course. This was my first one."

Vivian rolls her eyes. Dumbledore presses down a smile. McGonagall sighs.

"You may return to your own duties, Minerva," Dumbledore says in his usual serene voice. McGonagall looks like she's been waiting to do just that, and nods to him as she turns to head back to the door. As it swings shut behind her, Dumbledore suggests, "Take a seat, Miss Blair. You too, Mr. Black."

He gestures to a pair of armchairs set up several meters from his desk. There's a small table between the chairs and a third armchair across from them, but Dumbledore doesn't make a move to join them as they sit down. Instead, he merely walks over to the window that overlooks the grounds, and Vivian is struck with the feeling that perhaps he had already known about the duel before they had arrived in his office. Maybe he had seen it take place from this high window on this tall tower, and has been expecting their arrival ever since McGonagall had intercepted them.

"Now," the Headmaster calmly says, still facing the grounds far below. "There must be a reason why two of my best students have decided to spend their Sunday morning trying to hex each other."

Beneath her breath, Vivian snorts_, "Best student?"_ and eyes Sirius with a heavy helping of patronizing disbelief.

Sirius scowls at her, his narrowed eyes conveying a similar sense of incredulity at the thought of her being considered with such esteem. At the window, Dumbledore smiles quietly to himself, and clears his throat as he turns around to look at them.

There is something intimidating about Albus Dumbledore. He possesses within himself another half that is very different from the calm old man that they usually see gracing the halls of Hogwarts. When he is of the mind for it, he can be quite fearsome. The calm but stern glance he bestows upon Vivian and Sirius now is proof enough of that.

"Alas, I've never much enjoyed this aspect of my job. Authority is often very black and white. I'm sure, given your similarities, you'd both agree. In these situations, I find that it's best to understand the reason behind the actions that are taken before any drastic punishments are given out," Dumbledore slowly says, stepping towards the two students. He reaches out to place a hand on the back of the empty armchair, looks down upon the pair through his half-moon spectacles, and wonders, "Might I ask what caused you to draw your wands?"

The question makes both Vivian and Sirius jolt forward to face him, having turned to glower at each other when Dumbledore had spoken about their apparent similarities. Neither had appreciated being compared to the other, and so glares, naturally, had to be administered. Upon the question, though, the pair turns to look at Dumbledore, who is watching them in a strangely amused way.

"He said that I read erot – er, questionable literature," Vivian sniffs haughtily.

Sirius immediately adds, "She called me a Slytherin."

"Well you seem to think that I'm a Death Eater and you never shut up about it – "

"That's because you're constantly calling me a blood traitor!"

"Right now, you're acting like an idiotic piece of – " glancing at Dumbledore, Vivian coughs and finishes, "Anyway, I didn't start the fight, Black did. He's the one that should be punished."

Sirius laughs and scorns, "If you hadn't insulted me, I wouldn't have had to start anything – er, not that I _did_ start it, Headmaster, because I didn't – "

"You're a terrible liar. You're _always_ starting fights. Last week, you even got into a _brawl_ with that Hufflepuff loser."

"Well like you said, he's a loser – and I didn't actually brawl, Headmaster, she's exaggerating – besides, we're not talking about last week, we're talking about this morning, when you said that I was going to turn on my friends and join You-Know-Who!"

They glare at each other formidably, and are about to start up another round of arguments when Dumbledore decides that if they're ever going to get anywhere productive, they really ought to have a more civilized conversation. He cuts in with a breezy, "Pepper Imp?" and places a bowl of the candy on the table between them. He helps himself to one and, as he pops it into his mouth, murmurs, "I've always tried to enjoy the flavor, but…ah, alas, I've never been able to form an appreciation for it."

Vivian and Sirius stare, baffled, as the candy makes smoke burst from their Headmaster's ears. The sight is odd enough for the tension between them to completely disappear. Well, mostly.

"Nevertheless, I find them to be extremely useful when you need to clear your head," Dumbledore adds, and takes a seat in the armchair across from them, his ears still smoking.

Sirius looks a bit skeptical of this, but Dumbledore doesn't press his point and merely says, "It seems to me that this confrontation is the result of something we are rarely able to see with our own eyes. Tell me, Miss Blair, what do you think of Mr. Black's new nickname for you?"

At this, Vivian jerks her head up in confusion, and Dumbledore calmly muses, "Godric, was it?"

The explanation immediately makes her scoff. Beside her, Sirius smirks smugly and crosses his arms, and she glares at him as she begins to scathingly mutter, "He – "

" – Must think very highly of you, to refer to you with such an honorable name," Dumbledore finishes. "After all, Godric Gryffindor was one of the greatest wizards of his time."

Sirius frowns unhappily and returns Vivian's glare wholeheartedly, not liking what the Headmaster is doing. He doesn't have time to refute the words, though, before Dumbledore is turning to look at him and calmly adding, "As was Salazar Slytherin."

This catches Sirius's attention – to the point of him raising his eyebrows into his hairline and staring at Dumbledore like he's gone crazy. The Headmaster, however, merely smiles, "I'm sure that Miss Blair holds the founder of her house with high esteem. He, too, was a great wizard."

Sirius and Vivian both gape at him with baffled expressions, but Dumbledore merely reaches for several Pepper Imps and sighs, "I suppose the Sorting Hat has reasons for placing us where he does, but the world would be a very monotonous place if we did not possess attributes from all four houses, do you not agree? Now," he says, and stands up, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you both to save your duels for your Defense class." He reaches out to drop a Pepper Imp into Sirius's hand, and then into Vivian's, before he waves his own hand and says, "Off you go. Enjoy the Pepper Imps – they truly do wonders, you know."

Then, with one last twinkling glance, Dumbledore sweeps from the room and disappears, leaving the two of them sitting side by side, wearing baffled expressions and each holding one of the small black candies. Then, still baffled, Sirius and Vivian turn to look at each other, and for the briefest of moments, the strangest thing happens.

Understanding clashes through their eyes. For the first time since either can recall, they feel precisely the same thing: complete perplexity regarding the situation that had just unfolded, and confusion over what, exactly, had just occurred. They share an oddly reciprocal look bred entirely from that bafflement, and they just sit there for a long moment and share in the strange feeling that courses through the air between them.

And then…

"Well thanks for wasting my Sunday morning, Black. As if I want to see you any more than I absolutely have to," Vivian snarks at him, and stands up with a huff, grabbing her book and turning to the doors.

Sirius huffs too and follows her with a condescending, "Don't worry, Godric. I'll let you go back to reading your smutty novels now."

Vivian growls beneath her breath and sniffs, "Dumbledore seems to think that you're expressing your undying love for me through that nickname."

Sirius laughs and mutters, "Dumbledore doesn't know what he's talking about – would you hurry up? I have things to do."

"You mean broom closets to explore?" she sarcastically wonders, and shoves him out of her way when he tries to get in front of her.

He grouses, "At least I don't resort to reading erotic books for a bit of fun."

"For the last time, Jane Austen is not that kind of writer, and besides, I'm not reading any of her books right now."

"Well what _are_ you reading, then?"

She rolls her eyes, pulls out her borrowed book, and shoves it into his face. Sirius isn't expecting the move and reels back as it hits him hard in the nose. He reaches up to rub the sore appendage with a scowl and shoves it out of his face, but not before he catches sight of the title.

"That Chaps Diggons fellow again? I'll bet Tosspot Clarke didn't tell you that he's a _muggle_ author!"

Sirius feels quite proud of himself for being the one to break the news to her – until Vivian merely rolls her eyes again and snarks, "Are you actually as stupid as you look or are you just illiterate? His name is _Charles Dickens_ and I _know_ he's a muggle."

Sirius is so shocked that he gapes at her in the middle of the staircase and nearly trips on the next step. He's very glad he doesn't because Vivian would no doubt have a field day, miming his legendary fall at every opportunity and informing the entire school about his gracelessness. As it is, she merely sends him a glowering look and shoves her way past him yet again, eager to be rid of his aggravating presence once and for all.

"Wait – wait, are you saying that you're willingly reading a book that's written by a muggle and you haven't considered burning it yet?" Sirius demands, hurrying after her.

Vivian turns her head to glare and him and growls, "Oh shove off already, Black. We're not all as narrow-minded as you are."

Sirius gapes at her again and then bursts out,_ "Narrow-minded?_ Merlin – _I'm_ not the one reading muggle smut! Honesty, I shouldn't be surprised that Clarke is into that shite too. He'll probably _never_ get a girl – "

"It isn't _smut,_ you fucking idiot. It's a story about a poor boy named Pip who comes into a mysterious inheritance and becomes a gentleman overnight. He goes to London to live his new life but he doesn't fit into his new circles, and after a series of events involving a criminal, he – you know what, I'm not going to stand here and explain this to you when it's clear enough that you're too stupid to actually appreciate good literature," she says, and storms down the rest of the stairs without another word.

As for Sirius, he just stares at her until she disappears through the threshold, and then scoffs to himself before quickly following.

"Jane Austen isn't a muggle too, is she?" she hears him call after her as she storms down the hallway. Vivian rolls her eyes.

"Fuck off, blood traitor," she shouts over her shoulder, and feels a vicious sense of satisfaction when the harsh words make him do just that. Sirius glowers at her, shoves his hands into his pockets, and mutters, "I'll bet it really is smut…"

As Sirius scoffs and heads in the opposite direction, Dumbledore calmly closes the door of his office at the top of the newly emptied staircase, and chuckles to himself. He does hope that they make use of those Pepper Imps, because it's clear enough to him that beneath all of the banked anger and the scathing insults, there is something more. Perhaps it's too early to truly know what that is, but, well, he feels a spark of intuition in his gut as he walks over to the candy dish and plucks another Pepper Imp from the bowl. With a curious expression, Dumbledore pops it into his mouth, chews, and promptly makes a face as his face grows hot and more steam billows out of his ears.

"…Mm. It does clear the head," he murmurs, and chuckles again.

Across the castle, Vivian sets herself up in an armchair by the floor length windows in the Slytherin common room, and opens the book that Gavin had lent her.

"_That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day…"_

Vivian pauses, and considers.


	18. Genus irritabile vatum

**Chapter Eighteen | ** **Genus irritabile vatum**

**[The irritable race of poets]**

"So how was your date?"

The question makes Vivian pause, lifting her head to stare across the locker rooms at where Mauve and Morrigan are changing. Mauve is already dressed in her school robes again, having already showered and washed off the dirt and grim of practice. She's brushing out her short, light brown hair, which is still wet from the shower and appears to be darker than it usually is. As for Morrigan, she's just stepping out of the showers too, and has absolutely no qualms as she struts towards her duffle bag and drops her towel, throwing her arms out in a stretch. Vivian rolls her eyes at her dormmate's exhibitionism and grunts in disgust. As if she wants an eyeful of _that_ right now.

The sight is something that Mauve should be used to by now, having been on the Quidditch team for over two months, but she still blushes awkwardly and makes a point to turn away, giving Morrigan the privacy that she really doesn't need.

Morrigan smirks at Mauve's awkwardness. As she slips a bra on, she drawls, "Your face is like a fucking tomato, McCallum."

Mauve huffs, puts her brush down, and reaches for her knee-highs. "You're the most immodest person I know," she mutters, much to Vivian's amusement.

She twists her freshly washed hair into a bun and scoffs, "What she means is that you're being sluttier than usual tonight. Got any plans in unused classrooms this evening, Morrigan?"

Being called a slut doesn't exactly have an impact on Morrigan, though it could simply be because she's used to all of her dormmates playfully harping on her _extracurricular_ _activities_. She stopped getting angry about it years ago – probably around the time when she'd decided that she might as well make the most of the title. Morrigan has a thick skin. She doesn't usually let things bother her, especially the opinions of others.

Morrigan smirks and shrugs daintily. "I might just. But enough about me – you never told us how your date with Clarke was." She tosses away the shirt that she had just located and edges towards Vivian with gleaming, mischievous eyes. Vivian shoots her a look, but it hardly does anything. Morrigan's also worked up an immunity to Vivian's sneers a long time ago, too.

"Is he really as nerdy as he is in class?" she wonders, edging closer to Vivian as she takes a seat beside her. "Did you two sneak off to make nerd babies? I'll bet once he took his glasses off, you swooned. We all know you're a hopeless romantic deep down, Blair."

For some strange reason, Mauve snorts out a laugh at Morrigan's words, and the beginning of Vivian's staunch refusal is interrupted as the pair turns towards her questionably. Mauve just waves her hand and mutters, "Oh, uh…that glasses comment just made me think of something is all."

Vivian and Morrigan blink at her. When Mauve doesn't immediately extrapolate, Morrigan rolls her eyes and impatiently says, "Well tell us already."

Mauve clears her throat, her cheeks getting warm. "It's nothing…it's a muggle thing. You guys wouldn't care."

Seeing as both Vivian and Morrigan are purebloods, it is probably apt to say that they normally _wouldn't_ care…except that this is Mauve, and Morrigan is bored, and Vivian is actually secretly curious about the muggle world, and so they just keep staring at her until Mauve sighs and explains, "I just had a mental image of Gavin taking off his glasses and finding the nearest telephone booth to change in – "

"What the fuck?" Morrigan interrupts.

Mauve quickly adds, "It's just that he even has the same name as – "

"Aren't telifones those things muggles use to communicate?"

" – and I mean, Gavin already looks good in blue. I think adding some red would make sense is all – "

"Mauve are you saying that Gavin is a creep who changes in telephone booths?" Vivian demands, raising an eyebrow skeptically. It is a rather amusing thought, of course – the inelegant gracelessness of maneuvering around that small space – but honestly, what is she going on about?

Mauve blushes and grudgingly says, "I told you, you wouldn't understand. It's a muggle thing."

Morrigan hums in agreement and drawls, "I'm really happy I'm a witch. Muggles are so weird."

Mauve just shrugs and says, "It's a story that's written in pictures. The muggles call them comics. Gavin just reminds me of Clarke Kent – he's a superhero, see, who was technically born on another planet and came to earth as a baby. He can bend steel with his bare hands and fly without a broomstick and he's got laser eyes – "

"Okay sorry, McCallum, but that's about all I can take," Morrigan cuts in, and strides back to her duffle bag to grab her shirt. This time, she pulls it over her head without a pause, and grumbles, "Laser eyes? Merlin. Anyway – back to our conversation, Blair – when're you and Clarke gonna find an empty classroom and get it on?"

Vivian rolls her eyes at her and drawls, "He's muggleborn."

Those two words might've worked if someone like Avery had asked, but as for Morrigan…

"It's not like you can't have a taste," she shrugs, finishing getting dressed. As she pulls her school robe on, she smirks, "Muggleborns are kinky as fuck, let me tell you."

Mauve blushes again. Vivian makes a face.

"I'd really rather you didn't," she sarcastically mutters, and Morrigan shrugs.

"Have it your way, then. But I'll bet Clarke is secretly a beast. His nerd glasses probably hide it, but…" she winks, and barely manages to dodge the pile of dirty Quidditch robes that Vivian chucks at her. When she grabs her duffle bag and broomstick and makes for the door, Morrigan calls, "I'm off to explore some unused classrooms myself! Maybe I'll find a muggleborn of my own and test out my theory."

Vivian rolls her eyes but doesn't respond, and merely walks over to where she'd thrown her Quidditch robes. She lifts them up and stuffs them into her bag, then slips on her shoes and glances over at Mauve curiously. The girl is just tugging on her cloak, looking a bit like she's trying to become invisible. Maybe she's embarrassed about her attempt to explain those strange muggle picture stories. Vivian stares at her and wonders. She stares at her so hard that Mauve lifts her head to look back, her gaze shuddered through with confusion and something resembling nervousness.

"Look – I know the muggle world is weird and you're a pureblood – " she begins, but is promptly cut off when Vivian curiously asks, "So why does this muggle get dressed in telephone booths, anyway?"

Mauve immediately shuts up and stares at Vivian with a surprised expression.

"…Er…well, it's not like he's got any other choice. Saving the world isn't a nine-to-five job, you know. Plus he…well, he wears his suit underneath his clothes, so it isn't as weird as it sounds – "

"And these books are written with pictures, you say? How does that work?"

Mauve jumps up to riffle through her bag. Her eyes are near to shining when she hands Vivian a very thin, very colorful book. It's a lot larger than any she's seen before and has a picture of a strange man in a red, white, and blue skin tight outfit, holding a circular shield in front of him.

"That's Captain America. He's a different superhero. He got his powers back during World War II when he was injected with a super-serum."

Vivian raises an eyebrow and asks in a baffled tone, _"What_ is he _wearing?"_

The question, phrased so indignantly, makes Mauve snicker. "Most of the superheroes wear stuff like that. So does Superman."

Vivian grunts and opens the book, curiously looking at the bold images that span the pages before her. They don't move or anything, but they're drawn in such a way where it's easy to follow the action, and apparently, there's a lot of it. As she flips through the book, this American Captain seems to always be getting into fights with strange masked enemies who all have the same apparent agenda – to take him down and assert their evil plans for world domination. It's very odd, but Vivian can't stop looking at it.

"I've got a Superman comic in my dorm. I can show it to you sometime, if you want," Mauve shrugs as Vivian finally hands the book back to her. As she turns to tuck it into her bag and then heaves the whole thing over her shoulder, she says, "Seriously, I bet you'd think it was Gavin on those pages. I mean, he actually looks a lot like Clarke Kent, and isn't it funny how they've got basically the same name?"

Vivian stands up and hums, "Gavin Clarke and Clarke Kent. Yeah, that's pretty weird. So does this Kent fellow wear nerdy glasses too, then? What does his outfit look like? How does he fly without a broom and what _are_ laser eyes, anyway?"

And, well, it's strange how talkative Mauve is as they head back to the castle, weaving a world that Vivian has never heard of nor ever thought existed, and even though it's a strange world full of concepts that don't really make much sense to her, it's sort of nice.

* * *

Sirius wouldn't say that Vivian is avoiding him, but…

She definitely is.

"She's probably just freaked out that you made her laugh in detention the other night," Remus whispers as they sit in Charms class and listen to Professor Flitwick introduce the new topic they'll be learning this week.

"You're overthinking it, Padfoot," James murmurs on his other side.

"Maybe the duel scared her or something," Peter supplies, though he sounds unconvinced. The other Marauders do, too.

Sirius just mutters, _"You_ lot are the ones overthinking it. I'm _glad_ she's avoiding me. Wish she'd started doing it sooner."

At this, James looks even _more_ unconvinced.

At the front of the class, Flitwick says, "Now of course, you all know from Gamp's Laws of Transfiguration that it is impossible to conjure food and drink. The Aguamenti charm is not a substitute for water - "

"I still don't understand why you picked a fight with her to begin with," Remus mutters, his quill scratching over his parchment as he takes notes.

"I already told you. She called me a You-Know-Who sympathizer," Sirius hisses back, doodling along the edges of his notes.

" – Of course, this spell comes in quite useful regardless – "

"I wonder if she really reads smutty books," James muses, slightly off-topic, and then leans forward and whispers, "I wonder if _Evans_ has ever read a smutty book…"

Lily Evans, who happens to be sitting a few seats ahead of them, immediately turns around in her desk to skewer James with an indignant glare. James clears his throat and sends her a smile that he's probably hoping is charming, but ends up turning into a mixture of anxious nervousness. He runs a hand through his already messy black hair and shrinks back into his seat with a cringe.

At his side, Sirius snorts and elbows him. "She's gonna murder you for that comment, mate."

James just quietly bemoans, "I didn't mean for it to be that loud…"

" – Aguamenti will summon water from the tip of your wand. Watch my wand movements now. You'll need to direct your wand downward, and then bring it quickly back up at the very last moment to achieve the proper results – "

"You know, Padfoot, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you _liked_ Blair," Remus whispers, lifting his wand to practice the movements that Flitwick is demonstrating. He doesn't have to turn his head to know that Sirius's expression has fallen into disgust.

Peter's has, too. "When Sirius likes someone, he just goes right up to them and tells them," he argues, his brows furrowed with concentration as he, too, practices.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "I _don't like_ Blair, Moony. She's disgusting. She makes me want to gouge my eyes out. Every time I see her, I'm struck with the urge to – "

Quite suddenly, the eyes that he apparently wants to gouge out clash with another's, and the rest of his sentence vanishes before it can be uttered. Vivian is glaring at him from the Slytherin side of the room, so intensely that Sirius feels a shred of discomfort to be on the receiving end of such a look.

"…To what?" James asks, flourishing his wand even as he stares at the back of Lily's head.

He pauses, swallows, and mumbles, "Never mind. I think it would be in my best interest to not finish that sentence."

Remus raises his eyebrows, casts a quick glance at Vivian, and then murmurs, "Huh. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks after all."

James snickers. Peter, who hadn't noticed Vivian's glare, looks confused. Sirius just rolls his eyes and mutters, "Yes, you're very funny, Moony."

"Hilarious," James adds with a grin.

"Awe-inspiring."

"Priceless."

"Side-splitting."

"Quiet down, boys!" Flitwick calls, sending the Marauders a firm look. "Now why don't you all try the Aguamenti spell. Try to fill your goblets with water. Go on!"

As Sirius drags his goblet towards him to attempt the spell, he glances back over at the Slytherins and lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that Vivian has turned her attention to her own goblet. She hadn't actually heard him, had she? She's all the way across the room! Maybe she just knows, instinctively, when he's insulting her – an ability honed from years of hateful commentary on both sides.

Or, maybe, the Marauders are just really that loud.

The real question is: what urge is Sirius struck with whenever he sees Vivian Blair? For some inexplicable reason – now that he's considering it – he doesn't think it's to hex her, or to insult her, or to get into a fight with her. For the life of him though, he has absolutely no bloody idea what it is, at least not on a conscious level.

That's the thing about humans. They each have their own individual worlds all to themselves, tailored to fit them so comfortably that, to leave the confinements of it for whatever reason is to venture out of everything that is familiar. The unknown – it's a scary place, full of shadows and cobwebs and fears. And this _thing_ that he feels within him, as he looks over at Vivian and wonders at the way the sun can streak her hair with honeyed silver –

Well, it's very unknown indeed.

* * *

It's unknown for them both, and neither of them are all that interested in figuring out what this strange atmosphere is between them, or if it even exists at all or is just the same tension that they've always felt towards the other, made up of fire and brimstone and all manners of dark, angry things.

Maybe it isn't meant to be understood. Maybe the true nature of it isn't something that can be defined, or put into words, or made sense of. Vivian doesn't care either way, or so she thinks. Of course, she also doesn't think she cares about the fact that Sirius had made her laugh; or about the letters from her mother that detail the updates into the possible matches that her parents are looking into for her; or the way Mulciber keeps sending her dark looks whenever she walks into the Slytherin common room; or the poems that, for some inexplicable reason, she can't bring herself to throw away.

' – _this heart that sings the chorus to that clamorous symphony…_

_It is a thing I never knew, a thought I can't convey – '_

She paces down the hallway on the second floor, the most recent letter in her hand as she walks blindly past a dozen suits of armor standing at the ready. Their metal gauntlets clutch their spears, helmets staring straight ahead as Vivian walks down the line, hardly paying attention to them at all. It's late, but not that late. Curfew isn't for another few hours, but dinner has already ended a while ago and most of the students have made themselves scarce within the corridors of the castle. Now that summer has officially ended and autumn has begun to pave the way into colder temperatures, there are less people milling about than there had been a few weeks prior. Vivian can't complain. The peace and quiet is useful when it comes to getting a grip on her spinning thoughts.

Some part of her isn't even sure why her head is even spinning at all. The problems that she suddenly feels upon her shoulders should be simple things to navigate. That she had laughed at one of Sirius Black's jokes isn't a crime. Her arranged marriage is a natural course of events that her mother has spent years preparing her for. Mulciber's dark looks are things that could be easily dealt with, if she put in a little effort to appease him and lower her pride for a few moments. The love poems are silly things that she's still half convinced are just a prank anyhow.

But – they seem so sincere. So ardent. So real. Could they be? She must just be imagining it.

And anyway, she supposes that Sirius Black can be amusing every once in a great while, especially when he's insulting some of the Slytherins that Vivian feels deserve it. And it's only natural for her to be concerned about those potential matches that her mother is forging, because what if she does end up being paired off with Adrian Mulciber or one of his equally foul companions? And speaking of Mulciber, lowering her pride so as to take the target off her back is all well and good in theory, but she has so _much_ pride and she's never been very good at pretending otherwise. And it's true, the love poems don't matter, they never have, and whoever little shit is sending them to her really ought to know better than to mess with her, but –

Merlin, they just seem so sincere.

Vivian sighs and slumps against the wall, lifting her head to face the row of armored suits that line the opposite side of it. It's a tiny bit unnerving, facing all of them at once. It feels as if they're all staring at her, silently observing her as she crumples the love poem in her fist, pauses, and then carefully begins to smooth it back out again. She feels, almost, as if she's sitting in a court somewhere, and all of these sightless helmets represent the long rows of seats filled with people who are judging her. They are judging her for all manners of things – the potential suitors and her falling out with Mulciber – but most of all, more than anything else, they are judging her for the way she tentatively presses upon the wrinkles that now crisscross the parchment before her, unsettling the scrawling words that had been written by an unknown hand.

She stares at the messy handwriting, wondering if she has ever seen it before and if she might be able to pinpoint who has written it, but the task of uncovering the mystery author is daunting at best. There are hundreds of students who could be a candidate, and she doesn't know where she would start looking, or even if she wants to know the answer to this question at all.

Sometimes, isn't it better not knowing? They say ignorance is bliss, and besides, it isn't as if having that knowledge would change her trajectory. Her course in life has been set from the first day.

It's a strange thing, fate. At most, it is a subtle push in a new direction – barely felt and almost imperceptible. Fate has the power to change everything, but only if you let it guide you forward. If you do nothing, then it holds no power over you. But Vivian doesn't know, in that moment, how Fate is guiding her now. It is as simple as the way she slowly traces the sharp slash of her name, studying the downward curve of the V and smoothing her thumb over the harsh dot of the I. It is as quiet as the manner in which her eyes drift over the word 'love', as it gently unfolds in its inky caress and captures her so subtly that she hardly even realizes she's been caught at all.

What does love feel like, anyway? How does this mystery person know that it is love that causes him to write? How does he know that it isn't just a fluke of nature? A separate set of contradictions?

She's studying the poem all over again when she receives her answer, but it isn't in a way that her conscious mind has any hope of recognizing.

"Ow – Sirius, why'd you choose _this_ broom closet when there are so many other – "

"Blair? What're you doing here?" Sirius cuts in, one hand on the doorknob to the closet that he's suddenly stumbling out of, and one hand twisted around a girl's waist.

Vivian jerks her head up at their abrupt and very unexpected entrance, and shoves the letter into her pocket before he can see what she's staring at. Her eyes move between him and the girl. She must be a Hufflepuff seeing as she's wearing the customary black and yellow tie, which is a bit rumpled as it sits haphazardly around her neck. As for Sirius, he seems to have lost his tie altogether. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, and he looks quite disheveled as he lingers in the doorway of the broom closet that Vivian hadn't even realized was occupied.

Merlin, whyis it that every time she attempts to get some semblance of peace, _he_ always pops up out of nowhere? She must be cursed.

"Sirius, let's go," the Hufflepuff girl hisses, looking distinctly embarrassed as she tugs his hand. Her adamant desire to leave isn't matched by Sirius, though, who is shooting Vivian a skeptical look as he closes the door behind him and crosses his arms.

"It's not curfew yet. We have the right to be here," is all he says to the girl, though he doesn't turn his head when he addresses her. Instead, he stares at Vivian as he says it, like he's issuing a challenge or something.

Vivian just smirks at him and condescendingly drawls, "Broom closets are off limits to students. Ten points from Gryffindor _and_ Hufflepuff." And then she pushes herself back up into a standing position and sets her shoulders back, looking quite pleased with herself.

Sirius sets his shoulders back, too, though he doesn't look nearly as pleased. With a glower, he says, "Broom closets are not off limits to students. That's shite."

Vivian shrugs, "Yes they are. It's in the handbook."

It's not in the handbook. There's no such thing as a handbook. It also doesn't matter to Vivian at all.

"Handbook?" Sirius repeats, sounding quite incredulous. His glower turns into a full out glare. "James and Remus never got a handbook. You're lying."

The Hufflepuff girl tries tugging at Sirius's hand again, but again, Sirius doesn't budge. He's too busy watching Vivian's face drop into a haughty smirk to give his latest fling much attention.

"I guess you'll have to take it up with McGonagall, then," Vivian sighs with the tone of someone who's just doing their best, sorry, what else can they do? She crosses her arms and shrugs, "Of course, then you'll have to tell her why you were in a broom closet to begin with. I doubt she'd be very surprised, seeing as the whole school knows how slutty you are, but it still doesn't sound like a conversation _I'd_ want to have."

The Hufflepuff girl looks several shades more embarrassed than she had a moment before.

"Sirius, it's not worth it, let's just go," she begs.

"It _is_ worth it. You're misusing your power. It's not after hours and that broom closet shit isn't even true," Sirius scowls, and wrenches his hand out of the girl's grasp when she tries to pull him away again. He eyes Vivian and slowly wonders, "What were you doing out here, anyway? Did you know I was in there and decided to ambush me?"

"Ambush you? I'm insulted that you think I have nothing better to do than sit around and stalk you."

"You want to have another duel, then? Pick up where we left off the last time?"

"We both know you wouldn't be able to handle it."

He cuts out a biting laugh. "It's funny how confident you pretend to be, Godric. You were losing when McGonagall interrupted us."

"Sirius, come _on_ – "

"Yes, go on, Black. Listen to your new conquest like the obedient dog you are."

He eyes her and grits out, "Jealous, Blair? I bet you wish you had someone to explore broom closets with, but you'll have to keep dreaming. No one's stupid enough to try it with _you."_

"Five points from Gryffindor," Vivian breezily drawls, tucking her hands casually into her pockets. The corner of her mouth edges up into a vicious smirk.

Sirius gapes. "For _what?"_

"For talking back to a prefect."

"You – that's bullshit! See, this is why you've got no friends – "

"Five points from Hufflepuff, too," she cuts in with violent satisfaction.

This time, both Sirius _and_ the girl turn glares her way, though the Hufflepuff girl could definitely stand to practice hers more often, because it wouldn't scare a fly.

"Why," Sirius spits, so angry that his question doesn't even carry an inflection.

Vivian smirks. "For being stupid enough to fraternize with the likes of _you."_

Sirius clenches his teeth and steps forward threateningly, but Vivian just drawls, "I could do this all day, Black. Don't push your luck."

He lets out a frustrated sound and turns on his heel, grabbing the Hufflepuff's wrist and dragging her down the hallway so suddenly that the girl looks a bit like a ragdoll. It amuses Vivian, who just watches them leave with her best Slytherin smirk, arms crossed as she leans against the wall.

"James and Remus will get you back for this!" Sirius shouts as he storms off.

Vivian really can't resist shouting back, "Five more points for being a womanizing arsehole!" just as he's rounding the corner. She hears him let out an angry growl as he disappears, and snickers to herself.

But her snickers come to a slow halt when she thinks about the way Sirius and that girl had stumbled out of the closet, and for some strange reason, she feels something bitter take a hold of her as she recalls the way the girl had laughingly complained and the way Sirius's eyes had shone with the smile that he always uses to get his way. It's a strange, sinking sort of feeling, like being pulled down into a deep lake and losing sight of the surface. Like slowly drifting off into the beginnings of a caressingly dark dream. She doesn't recognize it. She doesn't think she's ever felt it before.

After lingering there for a moment, frowning to herself and wondering why she feels the way she does, Vivian shrugs it off and turns. She glances over at the suits of armor, which are still blindly staring straight ahead, and mutters, "What're you looking at?" as she shoves off from the wall and stalks in the other direction.

Her hands are still in her pockets, and without even fully knowing what she's doing, she curls her fingers around the poem that she had put there upon Sirius's abrupt arrival. But then again, that's just how Fate is. Sometimes, it works so softly that you don't even hear it in the background – until you turn your head just a little to the left, and the song that has been singing all along becomes a little bit clearer.

* * *

"Rough day?" Regulus murmurs as he helps himself to the chair next to hers. The Slytherin common room is bustling with students going about their business. With curfew not for another few hours, the room is alive with chatter. It's all very comforting, sort of. A part of Vivian would rather sort out her thoughts by herself, but that hadn't worked very well the first time. She'll take the noisy conversations and the crackling fire over Sirius Black's man-whoring ways any time.

Vivian glances over at her new companion and shrugs. Regulus and her have forged a strange friendship since the start of the year. It's odd to think that, before a few weeks ago, they'd never even talked to each other at all. Now, his quiet presence is almost familiar to her, as if she's known him her entire life.

Well, in a way, she has. She can't remember how old she was when she had first met the Black family, but she must've been about six or seven when Walburga and Orion Black had sat down for their first dinner at the Blair estate. It's all a blur of hazy memory to her, but she's sure that both Regulus and Sirius must have been there too. After all, that dinner was the first of many between the two families, in a drive to incorporate their children together early on. Arranged marriages, when thought out so far in advance, were often hammered out in such a way. Of course it hadn't lasted. Sirius had shown his true colors even before he'd marred his family name by being sorted into Gryffindor, and after that, the dinners had ceased entirely.

Anyway, as Vivian glances over at Regulus, she leans back in her chair and wonders at the familiar qualities that perforate the spaces between them. Once again, she's struck with the thought of how different he is compared to his brother. Regulus is so silently compelling, like a magnetic field that draws you in so quietly, you don't even realize you've been caught in its orbit. Sirius, on the other hand…

He's a lightning clap. A crash of thunder. You can't help but notice him. He's impossible to ignore.

"I just caught your brother in a broom closet with some idiot Hufflepuff," Vivian briskly informs him, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Behind her lids, she can clearly envision the way Sirius had stumbled out of the small closet. She can still picture his boyish grin and his twinkling eyes and the way he had been holding that girl around the waist, pulling her into his side as if she was the only creature on earth that he cared for.

Regulus raises an eyebrow at her, and asks, "So?"

Vivian opens her eyes to give him a look. "So it was gross and I took house points from Gryffindor for it."

His mouth curls into a wide smirk. He nods at her, looking vaguely proud and very smug, and says, "Sounds like you've been abusing your prefect authority, Blair."

She smirks right back and drawls, "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Black. I take law and order very seriously."

"At least where it concerns my brother," he muses, pulling out his book.

As he begins to leaf through it, looking for his bookmark, Vivian shrugs, "Your brother annoys the hell out of me."

Regulus nods in vague agreement, a bit distracted by his search, before he finally finds his bookmark and responds, "He is a bit disagreeable."

"He's foul," she immediately replies.

Vivian thinks about the shining way Sirius's eyes had gleamed upon leaving the broom closet, and mutters, "I don't know why the whole school is in love with him."

Regulus shrugs. He doesn't know why, either. Well, actually he does, but he isn't about to admit that Sirius has a certain charm about him that makes him difficult to ignore. He wonders if Vivian's ever felt it, or if her heart is as closed off to his brother as he thinks. She's never given any indication that she feels anything other than extreme hatred for Sirius. Still…

"…Why'd you take points from him? It's not like broom closets are off-limits or anything," Regulus slowly wonders. His tone is almost bored as he returns his eyes to his book, but he's very aware of her even as he begins to read. She shifts in her chair, fingers drumming against the armrest.

"Because I felt like it. Why else?" she asks.

Regulus glances over at her and shrugs. Why else, indeed. In any case, he has his answer to the silent question thrumming through his mind.

Until, of course, Vivian huffs, "Just taking house points and not giving him a detention was generous, really. And that Hufflepuff girl was lucky I only took a few from her – "

"Not that I'm complaining, but you took points from the girl, too?" Regulus snorts. The corner of his mouth twists into a smirk, but something about it is lacking. His eyes don't have the usual grey-twisted mischief, though Vivian doesn't notice.

She just scoffs, "Yeah of course. Any girl who willingly gets into a broom closet with Sirius Black deserves it. Merlin. Your brother doesn't have any standards, either. She was annoying as hell. You know what? I have homework to do. See you later, Regulus."

And with that, Vivian pushes herself out of the chair and storms out of the room, muttering to herself as she vanishes into the girl's dorms. Regulus stares at her until she disappears, eyebrows furrowed just so as he turns over the conversation in his head. As he muses over it, though, all he can come up with is one explanation to Vivian's strange behavior.

Surely, she isn't _jealous_ of that Hufflepuff girl? That couldn't be right, because if Vivian is jealous, then that would mean –

Well, it would mean something that in this moment, Regulus Black certainly does not want to contemplate.


	19. Nil fuit umquam sic impar sibi

**Chapter Nineteen | Nil fuit umquam sic impar sibi**

**[Nothing was ever so inconsistent with itself]**

When you are young, you see the world as through a kaleidoscope. It is built like a flat plane, with bright and vibrant colors ricocheting through it, and you don't know where you're going, exactly, or what you're going to end up doing, but you aren't worried about it. You're not worried because you haven't yet experienced life as anything _but_ a flat plane. You do not know just how many layers there are, and just how many shades of grey exist between them. That is the vision of the lucky ones, who never want for anything and who are able to exist within the shelter of that illusion.

If you are exceptionally lucky, then you maintain this perspective even once you have grown. Your optimism is unfaltering. You know that there are layers of grey sandwiched between the light, but you choose to see the good over the evil. You choose the upward path instead of the downward one. You do not let it faze you, because after all, each of those layers is just a part of life.

If you are Vivian Blair, then you know that optimism is just a trick; just another piece of the illusion of that flat plane, and that it isn't something you can choose, but rather something you must fight for. It is a rocky road, this ability to view the world as a place of good and not of bad. It's hard sometimes, and it takes effort and courage, and you have to remind yourself that if this is the lowest point you have ever been at, then it isn't so bad, in the grand scheme of things. And besides, it isn't the lowest point anyway, at least relatively speaking. There will be lower times in Vivian Blair's life, but she doesn't know it yet. There will be times when she wishes she could cut her heart out and leave it in the sun to dry, because it hurts so badly that she can't breathe, or speak, or even think. There will be times when she wonders why life is even worth living, but –

She doesn't know that those times will exist, because she is still living on the flat plane and doesn't yet realize just how many other layers of grey there are. No, she is only just beginning to understand that the plane is not all flat; that the kaleidoscope is not all bright; that the universe is made up of tiers flagging over each other like steps, and that she has not yet eclipsed to the next one.

She is only just beginning.

'**Glasgow up in Arms After Tuesday Death Eater Attack'**

"Put that down already, Blair. What's the use reading that shite, anyway?" Morrigan wonders as she pulls her uniform.

Vivian throws her a look and retorts, "Oh I don't know. It's useful when planning a holiday, isn't it."

Rosalind laughs, "Not that anyone would go to Glasgow on holiday anyway."

Narcissa hums dryly, fixes her tie as she looks in her mirror, and declares, "Let's just get down to breakfast already. Lucius is waiting."

Tossing the Daily Prophet onto her bed, Vivian slips her feet into her shoes and drawls, "No thanks. I'm not sitting with your insane fiancé today."

Narcissa rolls her eyes, though Morrigan and Rosalind seem to agree with Vivian, because they snicker to each other as they grab their bags and head out of the dorm with the others on their tail. As they head down the underwater corridor towards the main common room, they see Mauve exiting her own room. She's got her bookbag slung over her shoulder and she's finishing up the last button of her shirt, looking as if she's in a hurry. Her tie still needs fixing and is merely hanging loosely around the collar of her shirt, and there's an odd sheen to her eyes.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow at her and calls, "What's got your knickers in a twist, McCallum?"

The girl jerks her head up to stare at them, eyes wide. She looks faintly embarrassed to be caught unawares in the state she's in, though none of the others seem to know what, exactly, said state is. By the way her eyes are glistening just so, it's clear that it isn't a very good one.

Vivian elbows Morrigan for her callous question and reaches out to grab Mauve's tie. The girl jumps, pressing herself back against the recently closed door as if she thinks that Vivian is trying to strangle her. Vivian isn't, of course, and just sends Mauve a skeptical look before drawling, "Do you not know how to tie a tie, McCallum?" And, before Mauve can even come up with a response, Vivian is expertly twisting the fabric into a knot and shooting the girl another look before stepping back.

Mauve reaches up to touch the newly formed knot, swallows, and hedges, "Uh…thanks?"

Rosalind rolls her eyes. "You shouldn't thank her, McCallum. Blair is shit at this."

Vivian turns to indignantly demand, "What do you mean I'm shit at it?"

Rosalind shakes her head at her and sighs, "It looks all lumpy and weird now. You should try that new French knot I was telling you about – "

"Oh come off it, Rose. It's just a fucking tie," Morrigan cuts in, and reaches forward to hook her arm around Mauve's. A moment later, she's dragging the girl into their group and their continuing along like nothing had ever happened, totally ignoring the way Mauve's eyes are still glistening somewhat with what looks suspiciously like tears. No, none of them make mention of it, but none of them have missed it, either.

"It's not _just_ _a tie,_ it's one of the only aspects of our uniforms that we can personalize!" Rosalind exclaims, digging into her bag to pull out one of her magazines and leafing through it. Before she can locate the page she's looking for, though, Narcissa grabs it and tosses it over her shoulder, where it lands on the ground with a surprisingly heavy thud.

Vivian rolls her eyes and walks alongside Mauve. She turns her head to watch a despairing Rosalind go back for her magazine, and smirks when the girl promptly snaps at Narcissa for 'being so unfashionably rude!'. Apparently, Rosalind and Narcissa are in one of their disagreeable bouts, because the response that Narcissa drawls back is a bit more harsh than usual, and it quickly turns into an argument as the two drop behind them and begin to bicker about all sorts of stupid things.

" – Don't know why Lucius likes you when you don't even know what a French knot is!"

"It probably has to do with the fact that I can actually think and speak for myself."

"You know what else can speak for itself? Fashion."

Anyway – as they continue their argument, Morrigan snorts, "Merlin, how'd we manage to be dormmates for seven whole years with _those_ two, Blair?"

Vivian shrugs. "…Hexes?"

Morrigan laughs. "Oh right. Of course." Then, turning to look behind her shoulder at them, she says, "Oi! If you two don't resolve your argument before curfew, Blair and I _will_ be hexing your mouths shut."

Vivian smirks. Her smirk only widens when Narcissa and Rosalind turn to stare at them and immediately start arguing with Morrigan, too, who, instead of arguing back, merely responds with a list of all the potential hexes she might use. It's all in good fun (well, sort of), and it does make Vivian feel a bit better as they head to breakfast. She finds it marginally easier to push the latest Daily Prophet headlines from her mind and to pretend that the world isn't all going to hell outside of Hogwarts.

"So McCallum. Alright?" Morrigan wonders as Narcissa and Rosalind fall behind. The short enquiry comes off a bit brash, but Morrigan means well.

Mauve clears her throat, still looking a bit confused as to why she's walking down to breakfast with people she's never walked with before, but still manages to murmur, "…Yeah. I'm alright."

Morrigan nods. Vivian shrugs. Mauve breathes in. The slight touch of awkwardness that has invaded the atmosphere upon Morrigan's question vanishes quickly, though, when Vivian says, "So. Avery's a piece of shit arsehole, isn't he?"

Mauve lets out a laugh, and Morrigan immediately bemoans, "Merlin, last night's practice was awful! At least we get to watch Gryffindor and Ravenclaw beat the shite out of each other later today, though."

The other two nod in agreement. Quidditch games are always a welcome distraction, and this is one that Vivian's been looking forward to. She's got to study Black properly in order to decide if their bet is something she should be wary about or not. He's been a Beater on the Gryffindor team since third year and everyone is aware of his obsession for Quidditch, but you never know. Maybe he let himself go over the summer and turned into a terrible player in a span of a few months. Vivian can hope, even though it's unlikely.

"And you've got a win-win situation on your hands, Blair," Morrigan adds just as their turning the corning and walking into the entrance hall. At Vivian's confused glance, Morrigan smirks, "If Ravenclaw wins against Gryffindor, you and Clarke can _celebrate_. If Ravenclaw loses, you can make Clarke feel _better."_ She winks, smiles lewdly, and drops Mauve's arm before darting into the Great Hall with an annoyed Vivian on her heels.

"You're so disgusting," Vivian grouses at her, giving her a shove as she stalks to the Slytherin table. "Besides, Clarke is way too nerdy to care about Quidditch. I doubt he even knows his house is _playing_ today." Then, pausing, Vivian glances back at Mauve, raises an eyebrow, and asks, "Are you coming or not, McCallum? Merlin, don't just stand there."

Morrigan plops down on the bench amid a sea of other emerald and black robes, reaches for the eggs, and glances over at the Ravenclaw table. Her eyes are perfectly shrewd as Vivian and a reluctant Mauve take a seat beside her.

"I wouldn't say _that,"_ she says, her voice a little too triumphant for Vivian's liking.

Glancing up as she grabs the eggs from Morrigan to shovel some onto her plate, Vivian raises an eyebrow at the sight of Gavin Clarke decked out in his Ravenclaw scarf, but that's not all. The entire Ravenclaw table is wearing blue robes rather than the customary black, and he isn't excluded.

"…Huh," Vivian mutters, and doesn't even feel Mauve take the plate of eggs from her hand.

Morrigan smirks and purrs, "Like I said, win-win. I know a few classrooms that the prefects never check – but then seeing as you're both prefects yourselves, getting down and dirty shouldn't be a probl – hey!"

Vivian grabs Morrigan's yet untouched plate and shoves it down the table, out of reach. She feels pleased at the silly gesture, if only because it's gotten Morrigan to shut up about her and Clarke.

"You're such a bitch, Blair," Morrigan huffs, and then barks, "McCallum, hand me my plate!"

Vivian immediately drawls, "She's not gonna hand you your plate, Morrigan," and shoots a firm look at Mauve to make sure she receives the memo.

Mauve looks entirely unsure, and just sits there wavering between the two orders until Morrigan huffs with impatience and reaches over to grab a new plate from across the table. Vivian smirks at her, and promptly receives an elbow in the gut for it.

"Ow! Merlin," she complains.

"Don't 'ow, Merlin' me. I was just trying to be helpful," Morrigan snarks right back.

"I've already told you that Clarke and I aren't even friends."

"And _I've_ told _you_ that it doesn't hurt to have a taste. He's handsome enough, for a nerdy Ravenclaw."

"Yeah, except you're forgetting that I'm not a slut like you are."

"True, you're a boring prude. Hey, I wonder if Clarke is the one writing you the love letters," Morrigan muses, quite suddenly turning the tides of the conversation around. It happens so quickly to Vivian just gapes at her, then rolls her eyes and grabs her fork to shovel some eggs into her mouth.

"I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before," she mutters. "Clarke is _not_ the one writing me those shitty poems."

Morrigan shrugs. "He might be. I could see him taking the indirect route."

On Vivian's other side, Mauve adds, "He's also really into literature, isn't he?" Then, when Vivian and Morrigan turn to eye her, Mauve awkwardly shrugs and mumbles, "…I'm just saying."

The slow grin that overtakes Morrigan's face is truly frightening. "…She's got a good point, doesn't she, Blair? Clarke is _just_ nerdy enough to send a girl mushy, romantic poetry."

Vivian sighs and opens her mouth, but before she can answer, an incredulous voice balks, "You think _Tosspot Clarke_ is your secret admirer?"

As one, they all turn to see Sirius bloody Black standing right behind them with his arms crossed over his chest. He's clearly on his way to the Gryffindor table and must have heard them in passing, because he's gaping at Vivian with an oddly affronted look on his face.

Vivian sends him a weird glance in response and promptly tells him to, "Piss off and don't ruin my morning, Black." (To which _he_ promptly ignores.)

"I mean, that's ludicrous," he continues, as if he hadn't heard her at all. "All Clarke knows how to do is write dull essays. He doesn't have to imagination to come up with a proper poem."

Morrigan raises an eyebrow, and drawls, "What, and _you_ do? Just what are you trying to say, Black?"

The obvious insinuation in her voice immediately makes Sirius jerk back with a sneer. He casts a grossed out look at Vivian, then turns back to Morrigan and gags, "Definitely not what _you're_ thinking. I'm just saying that you lot aren't thinking broadly enough. Guess I'm not surprised, seeing as you're all Slytherins, but still. It's sad."

Vivian eyes him. "Did you not hear me when I told you to piss off? The sight of you is ruining my appetite."

Before Sirius can respond with one of his usual sneering comebacks, Morrigan shrugs, "It isn't ruining mine, though. Fancy exploring the castle after breakfast, Black? I don't believe in separatism between houses."

Sirius Black is very accustomed to receiving propositions, but Morrigan's very sudden and very straightforward one seems to take him aback a bit. In fact, it takes everyone aback. Vivian's expression quickly turns into one of utmost revulsion Mauve gapes at her as if she can't believe that she'd have the audacity to even ask. Sirius looks partially gleeful at being able to turn down another Slytherin, and partially bewildered at the very candid approach.

Vivian feels that strange thing in her gut again, tickling its way through her stomach. She glowers at Morrigan and assumes that the strange feeling is merely due to being forced to watch Morrigan coming onto someone like _Black_.

Honestly, of all the people she could choose this morning, it had to be him.

Sirius holds up his hand, takes a step back, and smirks, "We both know that I don't consort with _Slytherins_. As if I would ever lower myself to _that_."

He shoots a look at Vivian before stalking off, making a show of eyeing the Ravenclaws as he passes them. They vaguely hear him call out something about how stupid their obvious show of house pride is when Gryffindor is going to crush them, but Vivian quickly tunes him out in favor of turning to Morrigan and griping, "Really?"  
Morrigan shrugs. "What? He's fit. Plus it got him to leave, so don't complain."

And, well, Vivian supposes that she has to agree with her after all – about him leaving, of course. _Not_ about him being fit. What a preposterous thought.

* * *

"Oi! Allerton!" Potter crows as they wait for Professor Slughorn to arrive. "If you think dressing up in those robes will disguise your shite Quidditch skills, you're wrong!"

The entire Gryffindor side of the room cheers. The entire Ravenclaw side grumbles. The Hufflepuffs turn to quietly watch the latest confrontation, and the Slytherins lean back and begin taking bets.

This has been going on all day. It's usually the Gryffindors who start it, of course. They're all stupidly confrontational and have way too much testosterone as it is, without the additional boost that apparently comes with a Quidditch match. Besides being self-righteous arseholes, Gryffindors all share one other common trait: most of them are annoyingly athletic and they like to openly flaunt it.

Sirius charms a wad of paper to fly around the room, mimicking a snitch. James makes a show of going after it, and when he snatches it from the air and holds it up for his housemates to see, there is another wave of cheering from the Gryffindors – and more grumbles from the Ravenclaws, too.

Vivian just rolls her eyes at the show. Behind her, in the middle of the Slytherin section, the not-so-epic bet is continuing. It isn't very epic because no respectable Slytherin would ever actually bet on Gryffindor, and so it's very one-sided, with everyone shelling out their money for a Ravenclaw win. Not that Vivian doesn't think that Ravenclaw has a chance, of course. Their captain, Allerton, has been leading the team for several years now, and he's pretty good. Their strategies are probably more complicated and impressive than anyone else's. It's just that – well, Gryffindor only has one proper rival, and it isn't Ravenclaw.

The front of the room, where most of the Gryffindors are located, starts cheering loudly as James goes around to show them his 'caught' snitch. Oh, it's all _very_ impressive, really. That wad of balled up paper is a fucking work of art.

"Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffin – "

At that moment, the door to Slughorn's office opens, and the man himself takes one look at the rowdy classroom and begins to wildly gesticulate, waving his arms as he trudges down the steps towards his desk. "Quiet, all of you! Merlin, you're all in good spirits today. I know we're all very excited for the match later, but quiet down and open your books to page 174."

There's a general grumbling around the room as the fun comes to an end. Potter swaggers back to his seat, looking quite pleased with himself as he runs a hand through his hair and shoots Lily a wink. He's always ridiculously confidant on Quidditch match days. Vivian suspects that it's all a front to hide the nerves, personally.

"What's your bet, Blair?" Avery hisses at her from two desks down. She glances over at him and shrugs, not sure if she really wants to waste her money on a bet. After all, she's definitely not betting on Gryffindor, and she isn't fully confident that Ravenclaw will win. But then Potter swivels around in his seat to stare at them, apparently having heard Avery's fairly loud question, and pretty soon all the Marauders are staring her down from the front of the room. Slughorn doesn't even notice, of course. He's too busy writing their assignment on the board and going on about how he does love a good Quidditch match but it doesn't excuse them all from settling down for some 'proper learning'. (Whatever that means.)

Vivian raises an eyebrow, catches Sirius's eye, and smirks, "Ravenclaw's not that great, Avery."

A bolt of surprise shudders through Sirius's gaze. He raises his eyebrows at her, looks somewhat smug for half a second, and then immediately glowers when Vivian adds, "Course, they're not nearly as shitty as Gryffindor. Five galleons on a Ravenclaw win, I guess."

She can't very well bet on _Black's_ team, now can she? She sends Sirius an obviously fake smile and he rolls his eyes at her, apparently deciding that it isn't worth getting into an altercation as he turns back around to face the front of the classroom. Potter looks a bit indignant about it too, but he doesn't have time to make a fuss before Slughorn is telling them to pair off into groups and get started.

Avery smirks at her and leans over to say, "That was the right answer, Blair. Five galleons it is."

She rolls her eyes at him and stands up to find a partner before Avery can wrangle her into it. She doesn't care about what the right or wrong answer is. All she cares about is annoying Sirius Black, which she has certainly succeeded at.

"What a waste of money," he drawls, sidling over to her. His hands are in his pockets, and his eyes are bored and heavy-lidded, as if he's tired. Vivian doesn't comment on his overall appearance and just shrugs.

"Unlike _some_ blood traitors who're cut off from their family inheritance, I have money to spare," she breezily responds, and walks past him.

She doesn't get very far, though, before he's reaching out to grab her arm and stop her, and when she turns to give him a pointed look, he leans forward and snarks, "The Gryffindor-Slytherin match is coming up, too, Blair. I hope you're ready to eat some dirt, cause we'll be crushing you into the ground."

Vivian just snorts out a laugh and tugs her arm out of his grasp, shooting him an unimpressed look. Around her, people are still figuring out who their partners are going to be. Those that have already decided are making their way to the storage cupboard to find the needed ingredients and setting up their stations. She vaguely hears Potter trying to wrangle Lily into helping him carry some of the jars back to his table, claiming that he doesn't want to 'injure himself before the big game'. In the midst of that bullshit, Lily is telling him to sod off and that she already has a partner.

"Your confidence is misplaced, Black," Vivian sneers at him. "You couldn't hit a bludger if your life depended on it."

Sirius shakes his head at her as if he thinks her comeback is stupid, and drawls, "You're just afraid that Gryffindor will win the Quidditch Cup. I'm gonna make you wish you never made that bet."

She sarcastically mutters, "I already do."

"Oh, so you _are_ scared."

"No. The thought of having to be near you makes me sick."

"Nice try, but we all know that's not true. You're scared because you know that Slytherin has no talent."

"That's bullshit – "

"Are you all paired off? Wonderful! Let's get started then," Slughorn announces, clapping his hand a few times to make everyone quiet down. Vivian and Sirius, who are still standing in the center of the room, turn to glance at him briefly. The sudden announcement makes them both feel a bit off-kilter, for they had gotten swept up in their argument to such an extent that the rest of the classroom had disappeared around them.

Slughorn's eyes land on them. He raises an eyebrow and then gestures to an empty desk. "Hurry up, you two! This is a very intense potion and we don't have that much time."

Then, finally realizing what's going on, Sirius's eyes widen comically and he turns to look at James, who has apparently been stolen by some other Gryffindor (which, unfortunately for him, is not Lily), and is sending him a shrugging look. He doesn't look overly upset about the turn of events though. His eyes are sparkling just so, and when he glances over at Remus with a smirk, the other boy purses his mouth in amusement. Sirius, however, is not amused _at all._

"I'm not working with _Godric!"_ Sirius staunchly (and loudly) complains.

Vivian, too, balks, "I can't work with this idiot – he'll ruin the potion!"

"_What?_ I'll have you know that I'm getting an E in this class."

"Please. I _doubt_ that."

"Settle down, you two! You're holding up the class," Slughorn says, swiftly cutting in before Sirius can respond. He points to the open desk once more, looking somewhat more stern than usual. "I'm sure it'll be very good for you to work together for once. Now, everyone, the main ingredient of this potion is powdered moonstone. Just a little bit of the powder goes a long way, so read over the instructions carefully before starting – "

"Unbelievable," Sirius mutters, sweeping past her to get to the desk that Slughorn had pointed at. He makes sure to knock his shoulder into hers as he goes, much to her annoyance.

She's right on his heels as she storms over to the desk behind him, and sits down with a huff of barely suppressed aggravation. The scowl she sends his way is immediately returned tenfold as he leans over to turn on the flame beneath their cauldron, muttering all the way.

"…working with _you_. Merlin. I'd rather rip my own ears off than have to listen to you nagging at me…"

"I know a spell that might help with that," she snarks right back, and reaches for her wand.

Slughorn, though, seems to know that he ought to watch out for any shenanigans between the pair, and quickly puts a stop to any potential hexing that might have otherwise occurred. "We don't need our wands for this potion, Miss Blair. Why don't you go get the ingredients while Mr. Black reads through the recipe?" His usually lighthearted voice is firm enough to get his point across, and though Vivian sighs loudly, she doesn't argue.

"I know this is below your reading level, Black. Don't fuck up," she mutters to him, and sweeps off to the storage cupboard to retrieve what they need. Sirius makes a trying effort to calm down and not get her back for that little remark, but he does send her retreating back a surly glare.

In all the years that Vivian has taken Potions, she's only ever been paired with Sirius Black once before. The results had been so catastrophic that Slughorn must have decided to never make the mistake again. They'd both received a week of detentions for disturbing the class, and had spent the first night of their punishment scrubbing away at the remnants of their exploded potion. It had been an 'accident', according to Sirius. He hadn't realized that tossing fire seeds into the cauldron would make the whole thing start smoking and boiling. He hadn't seen the signs of it, which was why he'd added the toad warts immediately afterwards, even though neither of those ingredients were even in the recipe. It had been too late to salvage the disastrous concoction before the whole thing had bubbled over and then promptly exploded in their faces.

Bullshit. That little cretin had known exactly what he was doing.

In any case though, after that little incident, Slughorn had decided against having the two of them work together ever again, and not even a day spent in the hospital wing healing second degree burns had enticed Sirius into an actual apology. Vivian doesn't know what Slughorn is thinking, pairing them off like this. Isn't he afraid that his classroom is going to be destroyed again? Isn't he worried that they'll get into another argument and disrupt the class like the last time?

By the time she storms back to their desk, arms laden with jars, Sirius has his textbook open on the tabletop but isn't bothering to read it. Instead, he's leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, glaring over at James's new partner as if he's hoping that his dagger-eyes will give the boy a heart attack. Vivian rolls her eyes at him drama and dumps the jars onto the table none too quietly, hoping that it will startle him into an embarrassing reaction. It doesn't, unfortunately. All it does it make him turn unimpressed eyes in her direction and scoff.

"Finally. How long does it take to get a couple of ingredients?" he complains, not making a move to help Vivian when she begins to open the jars and arrange their supplies.

She shoots him a condescending glower and mutters, "Careful what you say, Black. There are many ways of getting revenge on someone." Then, sniffing, she adds, "Especially on a day like today."

He eyes her suspiciously. "…A day like today?" he wonders, clearly wanting her to extrapolate.

She's very glad he'd asked. With a Slytherin smirk blazing across her face, Vivian looks at him out of the corner of her eye and says, "It would be a shame, wouldn't it? If Gryffindor's _star beater_ wasn't able to play in the match today."

At this, he sits up a little straighter and stares at her for one long moment before narrowing his eyes. His voice is full of low-tempered frustration when he demands, "Are you _threatening_ me?"

Vivian finally turns to look him in the eye. The look on her face makes it very clear that she thinks he's a total idiot. The dry, sardonic twist of her voice only hits that point home.

"Obviously."

Sirius snorts, kicks his chair onto its back legs, and sarcastically mutters, "Merlin, what should I do? I'm just _so terrified."_

She smirks at him and indulgently responds, "Have you read the recipe, or did you get stuck on a big word? I know you have the vocabulary of a five year old, but you should really try to improve yourself." She sighs, shaking her head as if she feels sorry for him, and breezily adds, "Of course, I suppose most of the girls you go for have such low standards that they don't really mind."

He gapes at her and scoffs, "That's rich, coming from you." In response, Vivian sends him a blank look, obviously not comprehending, and he smirks, "You have to resort to reading smutty books to get some. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me."

She glowers at him, grabs his textbook, and mutters, "This again? You need to come up with a new line, Black. Also you're on the wrong page you fucking idiot."

She mutters something about him being an illiterate moron as she flips to the proper page, where today's recipe is. Sirius just watches her, not looking overly concerned with her insult, and shrugs. As she begins to prepare the unicorn horn, grating off a bit of it for the potion, he says, "You know Ravenclaw is going to lose today."

She snorts. "Actually, I _don't_ know that."

"You're gonna lose your galleons on that shitty bet."

"Seems like a worthwhile endeavor to me."

"We're gonna crush them."

"That's _wonderful_, Black. Now why don't you do something useful for a change and crush up these porcupine quills?"

She thrusts the jar of quills at him, and he rolls his eyes. Still, this time he doesn't argue (too much), and merely grabs the mortar and pestle. As he starts taking his aggression out of the porcupine quills, he mutters, "Didn't take you for a nagger, Blair."

Vivian scoffs. _"How_ am I nagging you?"

"Ordering me around, taking control of the potion…you're a nagger."

"If _you_ were in control, you wouldn't get anything done."

Sirius smirks lewdly at this and shrugs, "Wouldn't necessarily say _that."_

She lifts her head to stare at his gleaming eyes for a moment, catches onto the insinuation of his voice, and wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Did you actually just go there?"

He blinks innocently at her. "Go where? I don't know what you're talking about, Godric."

"Merlin you're revolting."

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can Slughorn arrives in front of their table and tuts, "You two need to get a move on already. More working, less talking!" He leans over their potion to see what they've done so far, tuts again, and sighs, "Don't make me regret allowing you to work together."

Then, as he sweeps off to check on other students, Sirius incredulously repeats, _"Allow_ us to work together? Is that man _insane?"_

Vivian snorts in agreement and mutters, "I wouldn't willingly work with you if my life depended on it."

"Right back at you."

"Don't agree with me, blood traitor."

"Oh shut it, Godric."

"Just add this to the potion and don't fuck it up."

"I _can_ make a potion without ruining it you know. You're forgetting that I've got top marks."

"I've no idea how, considering how incredibly stupid you are."

"Stop nagging me already and let me concentrate. Merlin."

"You have the attention span of a mosquito."

"And yet the entire school loves me."

"Your ego apparently makes you blind."

"Nah. Girls fall all over me even when I'm not trying."

"That's only because you've got low standards and get with girls who are too stupid to remember their own name."

Sirius smirks and drawls, "Doesn't matter. As long as they remember _my_ name when they're moaning it, I don't care how unintelligent they are."

Vivian shoots him a grossed out look and grouses, "That's disgusting."

He shrugs and drops some of the powdered moonstone into the potion, giving it three counterclockwise stirs until the whole thing turns a deep maroon color. Vivian leans over to check if this is accurate, but for some strange reason, she can't focus on the recipe. Her mind is spinning with the memory of Sirius exiting that broom closet the night before, holding onto that Hufflepuff girl and grinning the very same mischievous grin that seems to make every female within its proximity fall at his feet. She wonders, vaguely, just how many girls have moaned his name over the course of their Hogwarts careers – until she viciously pushes the thought away and scoffs at herself for even conceiving of it, turning the page roughly to continue reading the recipe.

She doesn't care how many girls Sirius has hooked up with, or how many broom closets he's explored, or how popular he is to the female population of the school. Why would she? He's Sirius fucking Black, and she hates him.

* * *

There is something strange at work here. It is a faint twist in her gut; the barest hint of something almost bitter as it perforates her skin and binds to the pieces of her that are not visible to the outside world. It sweeps into her quite suddenly as she's approaching the Quidditch stands once classes have finished. She supposes that the sight of Sirius leaning over the edge of the Gryffindor stands to get a kiss from Marlene McKinnon is the cause. Disgust invades her even as she turns away and begins to climb the wooden stairs, weaving her way through the familiar sea of emerald. The Slytherin stands are right across the pitch, though, and unfortunately, she gets a front row seat to a sight she would have otherwise ignored.

It's because Black has been on her case lately, she figures. Merlin, it seems impossible to be rid of him this year. At least in years past, they were able to maintain a certain distance from the other, but for some reason, he is suddenly everywhere.

She finds Mauve quite by accident, shuffling into the first spot she can find. It's pure chance that it happens to be right beside her, and she doesn't even know it until she's glancing over and right into Mauve's soft blue eyes.

"McCallum," Vivian greets, and then turns her head to glare at Sirius from across the grassy pitch. God he's disgusting. Does he have to throw himself at _every_ female? Doesn't he have any self-respect?

Mauve nods at her but doesn't verbally respond. It's too loud for small talk, and Mauve seems to be pretty bad at it anyhow. She likes to pretend that she's invisible most days, it seems, and Vivian is perfectly fine with allowing said pretenses.

Quidditch matches are always a source of great excitement, no matter which teams are involved. The Ravenclaw stands are packed and very noisy. Nearly the entire house is wearing blue robes, and so the stands are even more colorful than usual. Of course, the Gryffindors are by far the most obnoxious. Their entire section is decorated with red and gold, from top to bottom, and they are chanting, _'Kick Ravenclaw's arse, kick Ravenclaw's arse,'_ again and again, much to the annoyance of their counterparts. The Ravenclaws don't appear to appreciate it overmuch.

Of course, Vivian is a little distracted by the sight of Sirius sauntering back to the locker rooms to notice. She's contemplating whether or not she'd get expelled if she hexed him from the stands during the game. Glowering at his retreating form is second-nature to her by now. She does it without thinking, as if some part of her that she doesn't realize she has just slides into place whenever she sees him. It's dark and angry and tempestuous, made up of rattling bones and sneering insults on the surface; insecurities and doubts hidden below.

At her side, Mauve seems to have noticed where Vivian's attention has been drawn, but she makes no mention of it. It's hardly a secret that Vivian Blair and Sirius Black have always hated each other. No one has bothered asking why, because they don't need to. Slytherins and Gryffindors just don't get along, and there is nothing else to be discussed. Mauve assumes the same as the announcer takes his place to introduce the teams, and doesn't think twice about it. Since joining the Quidditch team and getting to know Vivian better, Mauve has realized pretty quickly that her favorite hobby is complaining about Sirius Black and his many flaws.

The noise of the cheering students only gets louder when the announcer shouts, "LET'S WELCOME RAVENCLAW'S CAPTAIN ALLERTON, FOLLOWED BY ENFIELD, OAKLEY, HUXLEY, GRAHAM, AXTON, AND BARLOW!"

With a burst of blue, the Ravenclaw team leaves the dugout, racing onto the pitch amidst the cheers of their fellow housemates. It always surprises Vivian just how insane Ravenclaws get when it comes to Quidditch. For a bunch of nerdy bookworms, they seem to take the sport pretty seriously. The moment their team zips out onto the pitch, the entire Ravenclaw section bursts into loud cheers. It's like looking at a sea of blue, with their colored robes and their riotous yells.

Of course, when it comes to making a statement that nobody can ignore, Gryffindor takes the lead.

"AND FINALLY, OUR SHINING STARS, OUR DROP DEAD GORGEOUS GRYFFINDORS, OUR TALENTED – I'm getting to it, professor, stop pestering me – POTTER, MIDDLETON, GLADSTONE, LEIGHTON, BLACK, MORLEY, AND THE LOVELY PAYTON! LET'S WIN TODAY! GRYFFINDOR, GRYFFINDOR, GRY – "

And, as expected, the Gryffindor team apparently can't help but one-up their counterparts today, because when they arrive on the pitch, it's so obnoxiously assertive that no one, not even Vivian, can ignore it. Unlike the Ravenclaw team, which had taken a single turn around the pitch before landing on the ground, Gryffindor bursts around the stands several times. When they reach their house section, they reach down to high-five people. When they get to the Ravenclaws, they boo and sneer. When they reach the Slytherins, well, it would be unnatural if they didn't throw in a couple of rude hand gestures just for the hell of it.

The Gryffindors keep cheering on their team even after they finally land on the grassy pitch opposite Ravenclaw. It's so annoyingly loud that Vivian can't help but roll her eyes at the sight. She really hopes that they lose, because it would be so satisfying to rub it in Black's face later on, especially after his team's silly show.

Madam Hooch steps over to release the bludgers, quaffle, and snitch. Her lips move, probably wishing the two teams good luck, but her head is turned towards the Gryffindors when she says it. Everyone knows that she secretly roots for them, seeing as she was in Gryffindor house back during her school years. Then, the moment she blows the whistle, the two teams are in the air and zipping past each other in a race to get the quaffle first.

For as long as Hogwarts has stood, Gryffindor and Slytherin have always had a rivalry. They are the two most competitive houses, especially concerning Quidditch, and so it's no surprise that Vivian takes this match very seriously. Not because her team is competing, but because they will be, soon enough. Like any proper Slytherin, she pays attention to Gryffindor's tactics. Her house will be going up against them in a month or so, just before Christmas break, and the bet she had made with Sirius weighs on her mind even now. She isn't going to lose that bet, which means of course that she needs to make sure she stays one step ahead.

Still, despite the fact that she should be watching Potter to study his techniques, she finds her eyes drawn to someone else entirely.

It's because he's so infuriating. He drives her insane with his 'Godric' nickname and his 'pureblood scum' comments. She'd nearly pulled her hair out earlier in Potions when he wouldn't shut up. Sirius Black is exhausting and annoying and fucking shite at flying.

He zips past the Slytherin stands so quickly that he leaves a trail of wind in his wake, throwing himself into the path of a bludger and swinging his bat into it so hard, it makes a cracking sound as it propels towards Abigail Enfield, one of the Ravenclaw chasers. He's too into the game to notice where he is or who he's near, but Vivian notices him.

Windswept hair pushed back and shining in the sun, furrowed brows over calculated eyes that track the position of the quaffle, red and white Quidditch robes loosened below the neck as he idles for a moment above the Slytherin stands. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and he's got one hand on his broom, the other gripping the bat. He pushes his hair out of his face when a burst of wind sends it forward, and then suddenly shoots off to fly after a nearby bludger to send it rattling towards another Ravenclaw player, pulling his arm back and then swinging it forward with just as much force as he had before. Merlin, he's so fucking ugly, and arrogant, and –

"AND LEIGHTON SCORES! GRYFFINDOR IN THE LEAD 30/10! AND NOW AXTON HAS THE QUAFFLE AND IS ZOOMING TOWARDS THE GRYFFINDOR GOAL – INTERCEPTED BY GLADSTONE, WHO THROWS TO MIDDLETON! LET'S GET ANOTHER GOAL, GRYFFINDOR! _Ow,_ professor, I can't help that I'm loyal to my house – "

Vivian frowns. Ravenclaw had better get their act together. She put five galleons on them for Merlin's sake.

"I'm glad we have more time to practice before we go up against them," Mauve says beside her, and Vivian immediately scoffs.

She shoots her a look, then turns back to glare at Sirius, who is teaming up with the other Gryffindor beater and sending both bludgers across the field with two hard swings. She eyes him for a moment before responding, "Please. You're _ten times_ better than Black. One hit from you and you'd send him straight off his broom."

Mauve blushes a bit at the compliment, but Vivian doesn't see. She's too busy glowering at Sirius to notice. The mental image that her words produce does make her feel somewhat better, though. She would love watching Mauve wreaking inadvertent revenge on Sirius Black for her.

"RAVENCLAW SCORES! 30/20 WITH A GRYFFINDOR LEAD!" the announcer suddenly shouts, and Vivian turns her eyes away from Sirius so as to look towards the Gryffindor goals. Their keeper looks like he's badmouthing the Ravenclaw chasers who had managed to get around him, not that it does any good. The entire Ravenclaw side of the stadium goes up in cheers, chanting the names of their chasers like the world depends on it.

"ENFIELD GRAHAM AXTON ENGIELD GRAHAM AXTON – "

Vivian turns back to Sirius just in time to see him shoot the Ravenclaw stands a sharp glower. She feels herself smirk, and nods happily at his annoyance. Now, if Ravenclaw can just hold on and slowly overpower Gryffindor, they might just stand a chance at winning. What is it that people always say? It's the quiet ones that you've got to look out for? If that's true, then Ravenclaw is not to be taken lightly.

As for her, though, she's always thought it to be the other way around. She casts another glance at Black and decides that it's really the loud ones you should be wary of, but – then again, perhaps she's just biased.

"AND ENFIELD HAS THE QUAFFLE AGAIN – SHE'S MOVING TOWARDS PAYTON – C'MON PAYTON, DON'T LET HER SCORE AGAIN! AH NICE! GREAT DISTRACTION FROM MORLEY AND BLACK! I'M TELLING YOU, THERE'S NOTHING THEY CAN'T DO WHEN THEY TEAM UP LIKE THAT – MERLIN'S SHINY KNICKERS HAS POTTER SEEN THE SNITCH ALREADY HE'S DIVING LIKE HIS BROOM'S ON FIRE – "

Everyone turns to catch sight of Potter, who has abruptly pulled his broom into a sharp nose-dive and is zipping towards the ground so fast that he is little more than a blur of red. Huxley, the Ravenclaw seeker, is quick to follow, zooming so close to Potter that he's dancing on several potential fouls. But then, completely randomly, Potter pulls out of the dive without any forewarning, smirking vividly as he watches Huxley continue on his downward spiral. It becomes clear some moments later that the whole thing had been little more than a distraction, because while everyone had turned to watch the two seekers go after the nonexistent snitch, Gryffindor's chasers had managed to score – twice.

"POTTER YOU FUCKING ANGEL YOU – OW MERLIN, SORRY PROFESSOR – GRYFFINDOR IN THE LEAD 50/20! BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME HUXLEY!"

Vivian huffs, crosses her arms, and glowers at Potter as he exchanges a few words with Huxley. The Ravenclaw seeker looks none too pleased about being taken for a fool, but their words are lost on the wind and don't reach Vivian's ears. It doesn't stop her from glaring, though. He'd better not pull a trick like that on her. She isn't above the occasional Quidditch-match-hex every now and again, when she thinks she can get away with it. Huxley, though, is far too moral to turn to such tactics, and just zips off to continue searching for the snitch without making a huge fuss. Shame.

The Gryffindor team looks mighty pleased with themselves as they zoom around and cheer each other on from their brooms. Their revelry is brief, however. Ravenclaw is full of the Quiet Ones, and apparently, their form of revenge is to take their opponent by surprise.

Ophelia Enfield, their star chaser, seems to be growing impatient about Ravenclaw's score. She seems intent on getting ahead of Gryffindor in whatever way she can. She zips past Leighton, snatches the quaffle right from his hands, and immediately tosses it to her teammate. Axton catches it and is flying towards the Gryffindor goals so fast that the entire stadium hushes down in anticipation. Not so, for those on the pitch.

There's a general scuffle in the air as brooms are directed towards the goal posts. Black and Morley split up, trying to intercept the bludgers in hopes of throwing the Ravenclaw chasers off their game. The Gryffindor chasers are on high alert, bombarding Axton in their unflagging attempts to wrestle the quaffle from his hands, but the Ravenclaw chasers are equally as prepared. Axton throws it to his teammate, and the quaffle keeps zigzagging around them, so sporadically that the Gryffindors seem to be having a bit of trouble grabbing it. Vivian is practically on the edge of her seat as she watches the transaction, calculating Ravenclaw's strategy and Gryffindor's inability to do anything about it. When Ravenclaw scores, she's so excited that she lets out a cheer.

"GO RAVENCLAW!" she shouts, much to the surprise of Mauve, who isn't expecting her to voice her support to any house but her own.

Vivian doesn't seem to care nor notice – until Potter suddenly appears by the Slytherin stands to snark, "Cheering on your boyfriend, Blair? Loyalty is so underrated these days."

Vivian glances over at him and barks out a laugh. "Oh piss off, Potter. That trick you pulled was shite." Her voice, though, is strangely light despite her insult, and James tilts his head at her and raises an eyebrow.

"Sounds like you're _impressed_. Merlin – I think I'm going into shock!" he makes a show of grabbing at the front of his robes as if he's having a heart attack, and Vivian rolls her eyes.

"All I'm saying is that it was child's play compared to some of the tricks Slytherin'll pull on _you,"_ she shoots back, and then adds, "By the way, looks like Huxley's after the snitch."

The words immediately make him lift his head, snapping his gaze to where the Ravenclaw seeker is slowly perusing the pitch. When he realizes that she had just been baiting him, it's his turn to roll his eyes.

"Dunno why Padfoot's so obsessed with you, Blair. You're a piece of work," he mutters, and zips off to rejoin the game before she can respond. It's just as well, really, because Vivian doesn't actually have a response to _that._

Obsessed? She scoffs to herself, but it's loud enough for Mauve to hear. The girl glances over at her, looking just as confused as Vivian feels. Whether it's because James Potter had decided to drop by for a brief insult match or because of his words about 'Padfoot', she doesn't know. Either way, though, it certainly makes Vivian wrinkle her nose.

Obsessed. Ha! Perhaps obsessed with ruining her life. Still, though, even as disgust and frustration overcomes her at the thought of Black being obsessed with her, she does find it odd that two boys would say something like that in such a close span of time. Especially given the fact that one of said boys happens to be _best friends_ with Padfoot.

"Obsessed," Vivian mutters beneath her breath, and glowers over at Sirius. It takes her a second to find him because he's right in the middle of a sea of red and blue robes, but the moment her eyes lock onto his windswept black hair, her scowl grows more pronounced.

Well, she supposes that in a way, he is obsessed with her. After all, he's always insulting her and making her the target of his pranks. When it comes to harassing her, he rarely lets an opportunity pass him by. Sometimes, it almost feels as if he knows exactly where she is and comes around to annoy her just for the hell of it, as if he's bored and just doesn't have anything better to do with his time. So yeah, maybe Sirius Black _is_ obsessed with her. It's definitely not something she finds complementary though.

He's a fucking idiot.

It seems that her fake warning to Potter turns out coming true. As she's glowering over at Black with a heavy helping of disgust, Huxley seems to have struck gold, and this time, it doesn't appear to be a feint or a trick.

"GRYFFINDOR IN THE LEAD 60/30 FOLKS – ANDDD HUXLEY'S SEEN SOMETHING BECAUSE HE'S MAKING A DIVE – HURRY UP POTTER FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!"

Vivian turns to look over at the scene taking place on the other end of the pitch, squinting in the sunlight to catch sight of a flash of gold. She's too far away to see anything, but Potter isn't. The way he follows Huxley into a sharp dive, leaning forward to press himself against his broom, is faintly impressive. She's always considered Potter to be her biggest competitor when it comes to the other team's seekers. He's got a grace in the air that he doesn't have on the ground, and he flies as if he was born on a broom. Huxley, despite being in the lead, really doesn't stand a chance.

It's almost artful, the way Potter overpowers him. He zips past him almost too effortlessly, zigzagging through the air as the snitch darts to and fro. Huxley has a few close calls where he nearly manages to catch it, but Potter seems to tap into some latent streak of intelligence that he rarely showcases in public, calculating the snitch's movements in a way that even his logical Ravenclaw counterpart is unable to do. It's pure instinct that drives him forward. He's got his fingers around the small golden ball before Huxley even has a chance to shoulder his way around him, and, well – the match is history, so they say.

"Fuck," Vivian sighs, glowering at Potter as he races off into a triumphant lap, waving the snitch at the crowd. The Gryffindor stands are in a frenzied uproar, shouting his name as if they think he's a god. The Ravenclaws are booing, apparently deciding to be sore losers today, not that Vivian blames them. Potter's already got an ego the size of the moon. It definitely doesn't need any additional stoking.

The Gryffindor team zips around in the air, high-fiving each other and joining in on the chant currently blaring through the outdoor stadium. Even the announcer, who is the most biased Gryffindor supporter to ever exist, joins in.

"POTTER, POTTER, POTTER – "

Merlin, it's ridiculous. But even more ridiculous? The way Vivian's gut does this weird, inexplicable twist when Sirius Black lands on the grassy pitch, throws his broom on the ground, and pulls Marlene into a celebratory snog, complete with hands-pulling-at-clothes madness and desperate-hair-tugging indecencies. Naturally, the sight makes her want to vomit. Nausea ricochets through her with startling accuracy, and for some reason, even though she'd very much like to look away, she can do nothing but stare at them with dark, hooded eyes.

It's obviously because it's a disgusting sight that she doesn't want to bear witness to. It's disrespectful to the sacredness of the pitch. Madam Hooch should be storming over there to give them a piece of her mind, but she's not, and they just keep snogging and making Vivian's nausea even worse. It's just – it's so _gross_. As if she wants to watch Sirius Black tip Marlene's chin back and kiss her with that amount of _hunger,_ or clutch onto her waist and move his hands over her lower back with that much _passion,_ or thread his fingers through her hair with that domineering _desire._

She wishes she was closer so that she could take more house points away.

"…Are you okay, Vivian?" Mauve wonders, glancing over at her with furrowed brows. Her disgust must show on her face, because the girl carefully adds, "You look a little green."

She watches as Vivian's eyes flash and then follows her gaze to where the Gryffindor team is having a miniature celebration on the pitch. Most of the team is still in the middle of the pitch, joined by a number of other Gryffindors as they shout about parties in the common room. Potter, however, has gone over to try to get Lily Evans to congratulate him, and Black seems to be a little distracted by that Marlene girl to notice anything occurring around him. Mauve raises an eyebrow at the sight and then turns back to Vivian. Well, she supposes that it _is_ a pretty gross thing to look at, so she can't blame her.

Vivian groans and turns away, stumbling down the stands with Mauve hot on her heels. "I'm gonna be sick. I'm literally gonna be – "

That's about the time that her shoe catches onto one of the planks of wood on the stairway, and her (slightly) dramatic maneuvering becomes a bit more organic.

"Merlin! "

"Falling into my arms, Blair? Guess you just can't get enough of me," Regulus Black smirks, blinking down at her as he clutches her waist.

Oh, it's all _very_ cliché. It's so cliché that it probably would have made Vivian even more ill, had she not been distracted by the sheer force of her relief as it plummets through her. Merlin, but it would've been a long way to fall, and embarrassing as hell. She's not sure her pride could suffer through that kind of attention.

Vivian lifts her head and scoffs, "That was _very_ smooth, Reg."

He pauses for a brief moment before helping her right herself, pulling her over to the side so that people can get past them. Some offer up dirty looks as they pass, no doubt annoyed at the delay, but Regulus doesn't give them any mind. He's a bit too swept up in the way she's said 'Reg'. She's never called him that before.

"…Well I am, apparently, an Adonis," he murmurs, studying her closely. His gaze dives over her features, over her mouth and nose, past her brow, until they alight upon her eyes and settle there, content, it seems, to bask in those warm shades of brown.

His words make her laugh a bit. It's a light sound, sort of barely-there, like a scoffing hum of amusement that bursts momentarily through her throat. He finds it rather fascinating, how so many different shades of brown exist in her eyes. He's seen them when they're cold and muddy and dull, like soil frozen under a blanket of snow. He's seen them when they're light and honeyed and vibrant, like fairy dust shimmering through the air. He's seen them when they crackle with wildfire, and the brown becomes nearly-red, as if a flame exists in her gaze that sets alight everything it touches.

Right now, her eyes are like richly tilled soil beneath the hot blaze of sun, warm and earthy and alive – even as she lifts a hand to rub at her forehead and lets out a frustrated groan.

"Are you ever gonna let me live that down?" she mutters.

He pauses again, and then clears his throat before musing, "Ah. So you _don't_ think I'm an Adonis?" There's this hint of amusement in his voice, though, despite his expression being one of disappointment. A playful light enters his eyes, so faint that Vivian only barely sees the hint of it cresting through the grey.

She huffs at him. "You're laughing at me, aren't you." It isn't a question.

Regulus shrugs. "Might be." It isn't really an answer, either.

She gives him a look, rolls her eyes, and ducks around his figure to continue her descent from the stands. Regulus lets out a small chuckle and nods to Mauve, who is quick to follow her friend.

"Maybe I was wrong," Vivian sighs as she reaches the grass. Mauve raises an eyebrow at her in a silent question, and she mumbles, "Maybe it's just the whole Black family, you know? They're all so fucking frustrating all the damned time - "

"_You_ were the one who called me an Adonis, Blair. Don't complain," Regulus drawls as he sweeps past her, evidently having heard her grousing. He sends her one of his 'I'm-internally-laughing-at-you' smiles as he brushes by her to join some of his friends up ahead. He doesn't even wait for her to respond as he falls into step beside Rosier and Avery, but – he does glance back at her to raise an amused eyebrow at her.

"I dunno, Blair," Morrigan suddenly says as she, too, pushes past her to join the other Slytherins on their way back to the castle. She smirks, "Maybe you've just got a thing for siblings."

Vivian shoots her an annoyed sneer and grabs Mauve's upper arm to drag her along, and – across the field, well…

"What the hell does he think he is, a fucking knight in shining armor or something?" Sirius scoffs, his arm still throw around Marlene's shoulders. They've stopped snogging in favor of rejoining the Gryffindor celebrations going on mid-pitch, but only because Remus had forcefully broken it up before they could 'get into trouble' or something stupid like that. (It's just a _kiss_. Merlin.)

Anyway, he certainly hadn't missed the smooth way his brother had stepped in to catch Vivian. It's a shame, really. It would've been hilarious, watching her fall down the stairs. Probably would have made his whole week.

"Are you _still_ stalking Blair for that prank?" Marlene asks, sounding completely bored. She watches Sirius turn to her, wagging his mouth a few times in incredulity. She's not sure why he's incredulous, though. Is it because it's true, or because she'd called him out on it?

Sirius finally finds his voice and promptly grumbles, "It's a good prank. Now c'mon, there's a party at the tower and I know for a fact that there's gonna be firewhiskey."

Then, sending Marlene his suave smile, he pulls her into his side and gestures towards the castle. Marlene just sighs at him, but doesn't complain. Instead, she smirks, "Oh? And how do you know _that?"_

Sirius grins crookedly and leans over to hum, "I'm a _Marauder,_ Marl."

Marlene just grins back, the incident seemingly forgotten, and loops her arm around his waist. Behind them, though, the incident has definitely not been forgotten.

"D'you think we should just tell him that he's got a big fat crush on her?" James drawls, crossing his arms as he watches the pair leave. Far up ahead, nearly out of sight by now, Vivian can faintly be seen dragging Mauve along, but James only glances at her briefly before looking back at the haphazard way Sirius's arm is strewn about Marlene's form.

Beside him, Remus shrugs and Peter looks vaguely sick.

"He'd deny it."

James nods sagely. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Moony."

"I still think you're both insane for thinking that Padfoot likes Blair," Peter mumbles.

James just throws his arm over Peter and Remus's shoulders and breezily sighs, "That's because the only love you've ever felt was for your mum, Wormtail."

Peter just grumbles beneath his breath.


	20. Petitio principii

**Chapter Twenty | Petitio principii **

**[Begging the question; a logical fallacy]**

"Playing with someone's feelings is a really bad idea," Moony reminds Padfoot the next morning during breakfast, after he'd admitted that he had thrown together another poem to keep the prank going strong. None of the Marauders know when, exactly, he'd found the time to write poetry in the middle of a crazy party to celebrate the Gryffindor win, but apparently Padfoot has his ways.

"Playing with your food is a bad idea too, but I'm not nagging you about it," Padfoot replies with a sniff, and casts a disparaging glance at the way Moony is pushing his food around on his plate.

Moony sends him a tired glower, deciding not to bother informing Padfoot of what he already knows: that the full moon is only two days away and that he's already feeling the effects of it. His lack of appetite isn't abnormal around this time, and all of his friends know it well enough by now.

"Where'd you even find the time to compose poetry last night, Pads?" Prongs wonders as he shovels a mouthful of his breakfast into his mouth and chews loudly. Moony elbows him in the side, looking somewhat disgusted, and Prongs noisily winces back with far more drama than is necessary, acting as though he's been mortally stabbed.

"Urg – Lilyflower – must get to…Lilyflower…"

Padfoot kicks his shin under the table to snap him out of it. It doesn't entirely work, until Lily herself turns her head to glower over at them, evidently having heard her name and noticed the scene that Prongs is making. One icy glare from her is enough to make Prongs pout and slouch back into some semblance of normalcy. He sighs, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and looks across the table at where Padfoot and Wormtail are sitting.

Wormtail, of course, is entirely engrossed in his meal, but Prongs' recent antics have distracted him enough to realize what the rest of his friends are trying to figure out. He looks over at Padfoot, swallows a mouthful of pancakes, and informs him, "Yeah, I didn't see you leave the party, Padfoot. Did you have a poem written already?"

The question makes Padfoot bark out a laugh and lift his chin. His voice is smug when he responds, "Wormtail, I've practically got a whole notebook of poems by now. This prank is easier than I ever thought it'd be."

At this, the Marauders send him surprised, baffled, and weird looks. (Surprise from Prongs, bafflement from Wormtail, and weird from Moony, to be specific.)

"…A whole notebook?" Prongs repeats, shooting a look at Moony, who is still staring at Padfoot as if he's the strangest creature on the planet.

Padfoot smirks, entirely unconcerned with the other Marauder's reactions, and shrugs, "I'm a wordsmith, gentlemen, what can I say?"

Moony twists his mouth into an expression that could either be a grimace or a smirk (or, perhaps, both), and dryly mutters, "I guess you've been really inspired by your muse, Padfoot."

Padfoot begins to nod, realizes what Moony has just said, and quickly responds, "Untrue! I just like rhymes."

"That is such bullshit," Prongs drawls. _His_ expression twists into a smirk. "Blair inspires you, _doesn't_ she? You love writing about her long, luscious hair and her pretty brown eyes, _don't_ you?"

Padfoot's mouth drops open in disgusted horror. He meets Prongs' eyes, which are practically glimmering with amusement, and scowls, _"You_ love taking things one step too far, Prongs."

Wormtail seems to agree, not that this surprises any of them. He has the tendency of agreeing with Padfoot regardless of what is being discussed. With a sage nod that doesn't look very sage at all, considering how much food he's got stuffed into his mouth, he says, "IssapwinkPwongs."

The Marauders turn to stare at him for half a second, their brains scrambling to translate Wormtail's breakfast-speech, before Prongs raises a finger to respond, "It's _not_ a prank, Wormtail. It's a long-term mating ritual that makes zero sense to those of us who are not directly involved."

At his side, Moony nods sagely (and succeeds in looking sage, by the by), and turns to watch Padfoot start coughing uncontrollably, having swallowed his pumpkin juice down the wrong way upon hearing the words 'mating ritual'.

"M-Mat-ting rit – "

"I think he's gone into shock, Prongs," Moony sarcastically announces.

Prongs nods in agreement and sighs, "He does look a bit out of sorts, Moony."

"I'm gonna kill you both," Padfoot coughs.

"What the fuck are you doing, trying to hack up one of your lungs?" someone asks quite snidely from off to the side, and all four of them turn to see who has joined in on the Padfoot roasting session. Upon seeing who it is, Padfoot only begins to cough even more, Prongs slams his mouth closed to tamper down his smirk, Moony raises his eyebrows curiously, and Wormtail cringes into Padfoot's side and is promptly pushed away.

"Good morning, Blair. We were just discussing Padfoot's mating rituals," Prongs slyly informs her, and shoots his still-coughing friend an evil smirk.

Vivian snorts, looks at Padfoot with eyes that are as snide as the rest of her, and drawls, "You mean the one where he flirts with any pair of legs he sees and doesn't care if they're too stupid to know their own name, just as long as they can moan _his?"_

Padfoot coughs again and glares at her, apparently recalling their conversation the day before in Potions, when the topic of his escapades had come up for discussion. She's not supposed to go and turn his own words around on him. Merlin.

"Fuck off Godric," he coughs. "What're you doing in enemy territory?"

The other Marauders look quite interested in hearing the answer to this, too. After all, it's a bit rare for a Slytherin to venture near the Gryffindor table unless they have a specific reason to. This particular Slytherin does, of course, and snorts, "I'm not here to talk to _you,_ blood traitor. I just got excited cause I thought you were dying."

"Well I'm not."

"Yes, I can see that. Shame. It would've been a nice Christmas present."

"That's – you're a bitch."

"Lovely. Well now that that's out of the way, Potter, Clarke just informed me that we have a prefect meeting after classes today and that he'll be having a word with Dumbledore if you skip it again."

Prongs looks confused. "Huh? I never skipped anything – "

"You missed the last one because you were probably off messing around with your stupid friends. Now I have better things to do than talk to you gits, so I'll be leaving now."

Padfoot scowls, "Yeah, get out of here before I lose my appetite."

Vivian casts an unimpressed and slightly disgusted look at his plate, which has several puddles of pumpkin juice on it from his coughing fit, and drawls, "One look at _you_ and I've lost mine for the rest of the week."

Padfoot's mouth drops open incredulously, but she's already turning and walking away before he can think up a response, which is slightly concerning to him, because he _always_ has a response at the ready.

Moony's shoots Padfoot a raised eyebrow and sarcastically says, "Yeah, Padfoot, you're _such_ a wordsmith."

Prongs immediately snorts and slams a hand over his mouth as he snickers. Moony smirks at Padfoot's expression, looking faintly smug. Wormtail helps himself to another serving of toast, taking more time than is necessary to slather jam on them. Padfoot…well.

He glowers at his friends and throws his fork down, turning to stare moodily at Vivian's figure as she heads out of the Great Hall. Then he pushes his plate out of the way and mutters, "Yup. I've lost my appetite."

Prongs coughs, "For food, anyway."

Moony ducks his head and snorts. Wormtail looks scandalized at the thought of _not_ wanting food. Padfoot groans.

"Oh shut it, Prongs. One more word about my mating rituals and you'll be sorry," he threatens, but it doesn't appear to have much of an impact on his friends, not that he's entirely surprised by this.

Marauders, after all, aren't easily spooked.

* * *

"So let's see this notebook of yours, Padfoot," Moony says, as they're all on their way back to the Gryffindor common room. With breakfast packed away, they have about an hour or so before their first class, which is plenty of time to partake in their new favorite hobby: tease Padfoot about his obsession for Vivian Blair.

Both Moony and Prongs look very eager to have a look at said notebook, which is apparently full of poetry for Padfoot's solo prank. Wormtail trails alongside them, seemingly less excited, but then again, he's never taken a shine to pranking Slytherins like the rest of his friends. Pranking in general isn't his forte. He's had his fair share of good ideas over the years, but he usually finds himself in the background of the pranks that his friends pull. According to Prongs, he's the best look-out a Marauder could ask for.

In any case, Wormtail isn't much of a fan of Vivian Blair either, and isn't overly pleased that she seems to have become something of a central focus for Padfoot and his pranks this year. She scares him, sometimes. Maybe it's the icy glare that she can so easily summon, or the way she always seems like she's ready to grab her wand and hurl a hex at someone, or the haughty temperament that bleeds through her persona no matter where she is or who she's speaking to. It could also have something to do with the way she had jinxed him back in fourth year, or got him in trouble with McGonagall back in second year, or helped one of her friends lock him in the boy's lavatory back in fifth year, but – who's counting?

He trots along after his friends as they leave the Great Hall, and his mouth twists into something resembling displeasure when Padfoot declares, "You can have a look, but if any of you say _one thing_ about me having some disgusting crush on Godric, I'm setting your bedsheets on fire tonight."

That's another thing Wormtail doesn't get – Padfoot's adamance that he's not at all interested in Blair. Maybe he isn't and this really is just a prank. There doesn't have to be a hidden agenda, after all. Wormtail just doesn't understand why Vivian Blair seems to have transformed from being a Slytherin Enemy that they occasionally rile up to being the Star Target for Padfoot's pranks. She always seems to come into their conversation, regardless of what they're discussing. Even back in Hogsmeade, when Padfoot hadn't been around because of his date with Marlene, Moony and Prongs had spent nearly the entire day talking about her. It's getting a little tiring, is all.

"Aw, don't be like that, Padfoot. It's all in good fun," Prongs says after glancing over at Moony with those knowing eyes.

And – it's those eyes that also make Wormtail frustrated, because his two friends seem so convinced that Padfoot is falling for Blair and it's just ridiculous. They've been sworn enemies since first year. The thought of them feeling anything but extreme hatred for one another is laughable and slightly sickening. After all, girls have never gotten between them before, and yet somehow it feels as if suddenly, everything is changing.

Sure, Prongs has been chasing Lily for years, but no one actually expects that Lily will ever give him a chance. Padfoot has a long line of girls and prefers to let _them_ do the chasing most days, but his relations with them have never been serious and he's _certainly_ never let them get in the way of his Marauding escapades.

It's just so strange.

Padfoot sighs despairingly and mutters, "Fun for you, maybe. For me, it's just freaky."

Wormtail is quick to nod his agreement. He thinks it's freaky, too. Moony, though, just shakes his head as if he knows everything and responds, "Oh, we _definitely_ think it's freaky, Padfoot. Before this year, I had doubts that you even _knew_ how to write, let alone compose an actual poem."

Padfoot opens his mouth to defend himself, but Prongs bulldozes over his words to laugh, "Yeah, what's the deal, Pads? What other hidden, romantic talents have you been hiding from us?" He bats his eyelashes at Padfoot dramatically, but only laughs again when he immediately gets shoved to the side by his friend, who rolls his eyes at him.

Moony smirks. "Do you write love songs on that guitar of yours, too?"

Prongs snickers. "Dunno about love songs, but he does have a pretty name for his motorcycle, Moony – "

Padfoot narrows his eyes at them. "Don't you dare, Prongs."

" – Sometimes he mumbles it in his sleep – "

"Prongs I swear to Merlin – "

" – Come on Eileen – "

"Prooonnnggggssssss."

"Oh I swear what he means – "

"_Don't do it."_

"At this moment, you mean everything!"

"Fuck you Prongs – "

Prongs belts out, "You in that dress oh my thoughts, I confess, VERGE ON DIRTY – "

"What the hell, Potter?" Lily Evans dryly wonders, half cringing at the slightly off-tuned singing voice, and Prongs immediately shuts up to turn and gape at her, clearly not expecting her to be in this particular hallway, in this particular moment, listening to this particular song.

His staring lasts about four seconds before he grins boyishly and winks. "Good song, right, Evans?"

Lily blanches, looks somewhat disgusted, and pushes past him on her way down the hall. Prongs just continues grinning, as if he deems the entire situation to be a moment divinely orchestrated from the Big Man up above.

Padfoot rolls his eyes and shoves him. "You deserved that. Besides, who cares what I named my motorcycle? I couldn't very well leave her unchristened, now could I?"

Moony snorts. "But…Eileen? Really?"

Padfoot looks offended. "That song is really catchy, plus Eileen is a great name! It's like…the sexy librarian sort, ya know? Tight sweater, short skirt, step ladder, yeah?" He wiggles his eyebrows at Moony and nudges him in a conspiratorial manner.

Moony looks slightly scandalized at the mental image that these words produce. Wormtail tilts his head and furrows his brows as if he's trying to decide if he agrees with this verdict or not. As for Prongs…

"Oh, so you like girls who enjoy reading, do you, Padfoot? Say, the sort who might theoretically read something like Jane Austen or Charles Dickens?"

Padfoot stops mid-step, turns to Prongs, and feels his mouth fall open. This particular fit of gaping only takes him about two seconds to break out of, and the consequences of it are a little heavier than a grinning wink.

"You twat," he says. Then, pointing at Prongs with a narrowed expression, he declares, "Your bedsheets will be _burning_ tonight, Prongs."

Prongs immediately snorts out a laugh and drawls, "I'll bet _yours'll_ be burning too, Padfoot. Burning with your love of Viv – oof! Ow, _Merlin!_ No need to start a fight – ow, jeez! Moony, _help me!"_

But Moony just sighs and sidles up to Wormtail, who has smartly stepped out of the way and is now leaning against the wall as he watches Padfoot pull Prongs into a headlock.

"Sorry, Prongs, but you're on your own for this one," is all he says, and shrugs unapologetically when Prongs shoots him a glower as he tries to wrestle himself out of Padfoot's hold. It isn't as if this is an abnormal sight to witness, after all. The Marauders are a bunch of rowdy teenage boys and Prongs does like dancing across most of Padfoot's boundaries. In fact, it's a sight that everyone else in the hallway ignores, for the most part. Those who bear witness to it just roll their eyes and continue on, sidestepping Padfoot and Prongs as they go about their business. Several girls stop and watch the scene, giggling to themselves as Prongs' glasses slip down his nose and Padfoot's perfect hair gets tugged rather harshly, but the majority of them don't find it overly strange.

There is only _one_ person who seems to think otherwise.

Had he mistook the situation, or does it seem as though those stupid Gryffindors think that his brother is interested in Vivian?

Regulus narrows his eyes at the sight of the two wrestling Marauders and turns on his heel, stalking around the corner and out of sight, his presence entirely unnoticed by everyone except –

Wormtail swallows and turns back to look at his friends, shivering at the sight of those narrowed, dark eyes glowering over at them.

* * *

A Slytherin on a warpath is a frightening sight, especially when it comes in the form of Regulus Black as he storms into the common room, eyes narrowed and fingers curling. He doesn't know, of course, if his suspicions are correct or not. He could have misread the situation. He wasn't around to see all of it, after all. Even the mere _thought_ of his inane brother having a crush on Vivian makes him annoyed, though. As if Sirius actually deserves someone like her. He's so shallow that his soul is probably the size of a fucking puddle.

Setting his shoulders back, Regulus breathes out and wrangles his emotions back into place. He usually keeps them on a tight leash. It's a result of years of conditioning. His mother and father are of the mind that emotions are weak and can be easily manipulated, and Regulus agrees, for the most part. There is nothing quite so simple to control than the fickleness of human feelings, and Regulus Black rarely ever lets those parts of him loose. It's almost funny, then, how one look at Vivian Blair shakes down his composure like a twig snapping in the wind. Just one glance, and the frustration welling up within him breaks.

Oh, it isn't Vivian herself that does it. It's not as if the mere sight of her makes him fall to his knees. He's not so far gone as to give her that much control over him. One day, perhaps, his heart will be more fickle and less restrained, but not today. No, today he is less affected by Vivian herself and far more affected at what she has in her hands.

It's a piece of parchment – small, insignificant – but it isn't being treated in an insignificant manner. In fact, the way Rosalind and Morrigan are eagerly leaning over Vivian's shoulders to read its contents suggests that it is something that holds more value than a scrap of paper has any right to. And it is that little piece of parchment that makes Regulus narrow his eyes all over again and continue on his warpath.

He chalks it up to a general feeling of disdain. Sure, at the beginning, he thought it was amusing to hear that Vivian has a secret admirer. Her reactions to the letters are hilarious. The annoyance in her eyes whenever she talks about them makes him smirk. Like a true Slytherin, she has no need for those fickle sentiments. She is above them in every way. But something is changing, and Regulus isn't blind to it. He pauses in the threshold of the common room and studies the strange expression on Vivian's face – the flicker of subtle interest in her eyes and the quiet smirk that plays at the corner of her mouth – and something inside of him revolts.

She's not interested in that poem. She's not interested in this so-called admirer of hers. Because – if his suspicion regarding who is behind these letters is true, then that subtle interest and that quiet smirk would _not_ be the primary expression on her face. Oh, he knows Vivian Blair well enough by now to clearly imagine the fury that would capture her wildfire eyes. It would scorch the world to smoking shreds – just like his does, when he storms forward to snatch the parchment out of Vivian's hands.

The three girls immediately jerk their heads up in surprise as he flips it around to study the words. His grey eyes quickly score through the poem, locking every verse to his memory as he passes through them.

'_Vivian,_

_This love is like a firefight_

_Whose flames reach to the moon;_

_A winter cardinal trapped mid-flight,_

_Who sings a hallow tune._

_I'm lost to how it captures me,_

_Like frost upon the sill,_

_Whose tendrils melt beneath the heat,_

_And make the world so still._

_I've never known this kind of peace;_

_Never ventured down this road,_

_But such is love: a poet's feast,_

_To have and always, hold._

_And though I cannot hold you yet,_

_One day I hope I shall,_

_And we might sing that hallowness_

_In splendored notes, abound.'_

Vivian raises an eyebrow and leans back, shooting a quick glance at Morrigan, who seems completely baffled at Regulus's out of character actions. He certainly isn't the type to randomly storm over to someone and get in the middle of whatever it is they're doing, nor is he the type to allow that much emotion into his expression. The girls stare at him in surprise, clearly unsure what they could possibly say in such a moment, and just keep silent. On the couch across from them, Narcissa sends Vivian a raised brow and nods at her cousin. The message isn't lost on Vivian, who scrambles up and approaches Regulus with a caution that she rarely ever employs, when it comes to him.

"…Regulus? You look sort of annoyed. Everything okay?" she wonders, and reaches over to tug the poem out of his hands. It begins to slip through his fingers – until he lifts his head to stare at her and tightens his hold on it at the last second.

"I would've thought that you'd be trying to figure out who this person is, Blair," Regulus says, studying her eyes and noting that the brown tones appear more muddy than warm in this moment. Perhaps she feels unsure around him. Perhaps he is making her uncomfortable.

He feels a flash of frustration at the thought. If anything, she should feel uncomfortable around everyone _else_. He would never harm her. He'd never send her mysterious letters that leaves her confused and perplexed, or pretend to feel anything for her but what he truly _does_ feel – whatever it is – softly catapulting against the faint edges of his heart even now.

Vivian looks a bit taken aback at his sudden words, and furrows her brow at him just so as she stares into his eyes. The grey is quietly shuttered off, like the sweep of a curtain closing off a stage, and she finds that she doesn't like it very much. She likes being able to read him. She likes knowing what thoughts have captured him, and feels a strange sense of loss at the realization that he is hiding them from her.

"Why should I care who it is?" she asks. Her voice has a slight edge to it; a softened challenge that makes him raise an eyebrow upon hearing it.

Vivian just stares at him for one long moment before grabbing his wrist and pulling him off to the side, away from her dormmates' curious attention. For some reason, she feels that this particular conversation is best had in private. The Slytherin common room is busy enough to make a private conversation difficult to achieve, though, and so she has to drag him all the way to the tall windows on the other side of the room for some semblance of quiet. As always, the morning sunlight has difficulty reaching the windows, and only a few rays of its light can be detected as it tries to shimmer through the green hue of the water.

"Look, Black," she begins, fighting off the urge to reclaim the latest love poem. Regulus is still holding it despite his attention having been drawn to her rather than the inky declarations of love. He looks strangely possessive of it, which causes something to shift within her as a result. It's that uncomfortable twist in her gut again, but this time, it feels different, as if it is bred from displeasure instead of nausea. She finds, abruptly and without reason, that she very much wants that letter back.

Before she can demand that he hand it over, though, Regulus steps closer to her and hisses, "What if this whole thing is a prank? What if someone is _playing_ with you?"

He curls his lip at the thought, and glances down at the letter as if it is some revolting thing that he almost cannot bear to touch.

Vivian rolls her eyes at him. "So what if it is? I don't care who wrote it. I'm not an idiot who falls for a couple of verses."

He purses his mouth. "I know you're not an idiot. I just…I have a bad feeling about it."

He doesn't know if he should tell her his suspicions. Regulus Black isn't the type to jump to conclusions without proper evidence, and it's possible that he had simply misread the entire situation with the Marauders. Maybe they were actually talking about someone else – some other stupid girl that his brother is currently infatuated with. Maybe all that talk about hidden, romantic talents had been centered around someone else, and perhaps he is inputting his own interpretation of it into the equation, without proper calculation. After all, it was one conversation. One conversation that he hadn't heard to its completion, from a group of idiotic Gryffindors who don't know the meaning of responsibility. It is possible that he is overthinking the whole thing.

Vivian huffs at him and reaches forward to grab the letter, pulling it out of his hands before he can properly study the handwriting. It's being tucked into the pocket of her robes before he can argue, and Vivian is muttering, "It's just some stupid student who thinks they can control me, Reg. I like the letters because they're fun to read, but I'm not going to be swayed by them. Have a little more faith in me."

He opens his mouth, then closes it, and just stares at her with those shuttered grey eyes that are curtained from the rest of the world. And Vivian, she stares back with that challenging wildfire, and feels the strangest sensation go off in her heart.

It's like a red flag alighting on the edge of the horizon, so far away that it can barely be detected. It rings through her words and sets them on fire, so that they feel like they are burning even after they have left her mouth; things of ash and cinder. Why are they there? She had thought that her words were true, but she wonders, suddenly, if this truth is more multi-faceted than it appears.

The letters _are_ fun to read. They play into some core aspect of her character – the one that would take books out into the fields surrounding her home and spend hours splayed out in the summer sun with a story in her lap. There is something about the rhythm of the verses that appeals to her. Whenever she reads them, she feels a spark of curiosity bolt through her, and some part of her – however small – is indeed swayed.

Only, it isn't the sort of swaying that a person feels in the same way that they might feel a late autumn rainstorm open up above them. The drops of her curiosity aren't like the drops of that cold rain as it pelts the earth and causes golden leaves to fall from their pedestals. It isn't something that assails her in any way as poignant as all that. She doesn't feel it as a bombardment. It is not a clash.

No, no. This is the sort of swaying that follows a more temporal path. It's earthy and soft; sensual almost, in that tactile way that appeases the senses and quiets the mind. It's made up of wind rustling through tall grass, softly whispering its way across the edges of the skyline. It's something that can only be felt, not said; experienced, not described.

Regulus frowns at her, studying her closely as if he is somehow aware that she is lying. It seems that he wants to say something more, but Vivian is finished with his strange concern. She likes that he's looking out for her, but she doesn't need him to. They're just letters, after all. Harmless, silly even. They could never hurt her.

But – Vivian wonders if there is not a red flag in that thought, too – some silent warning that perforates the entirety of it, as if the swaying in her heart is murmuring for her to tread carefully. Why? She does not know. Maybe it is merely the utterance of some instinctual force guiding her along, intertwining with Fate's winding path.

Perhaps it is the harmless things in life that pose the most threat.

* * *

As Vivian goes about her day, Regulus's stormy expression is difficult to forget. It had been strange to see his eyes crease in such a way, especially considering that before this year, they'd had very little to do with each other. She's almost grateful that they don't have any of the same classes, seeing as they are a year apart, because the thought of being around him all day gives her an odd sense of discomfort. She can't quite understand why. All she knows is that the softness of his gaze and the protectiveness of his words had frustrated her.

She can take care of herself. She doesn't need Regulus Black looking out for her, especially considering who his friends are.

"D'you think that maybe…maybe _he's_ your secret admirer?" Rosalind whispers to her as they take their seats in Charms class. The classroom is loud enough for her words to go unnoticed by everyone around them. Well, almost.

Before Vivian can respond, Narcissa scoffs, _"Regulus?_ Merlin, no."

Rosalind and Vivian both turn to her with raised eyebrows, and Narcissa shakes her head at them as if she thinks they're being immature and childish.

"He isn't the type to play with someone like that. Besides, I've seen some of his school assignments and he's not that good of a writer," she says with a shrug, as if the case is closed and there is no need for any further discussion.

Rosalind clearly disagrees, though. She leans around Vivian to look at Narcissa and murmurs, "What do you mean, he's not the type to play with someone? We're talking about _Regulus Black._ I've seen the way he can manipulate people. It's like second nature for him."

Vivian has to agree with this. She's seen this particular talent of his, too, many times over. When Regulus wants something, he has this way about him – this charming, magnetic aura that makes people weak in the knees. He's got a way with words, and, coupled with the low dulcet tone that he most definitely has, well…let's just say that he could probably convince Nicholas Flamel to spill the secrets of immortality and hardly bat an eye in the process.

Regulus Black is definitely not someone to be underestimated.

Narcissa Black, though, clearly knows him a lot better than they do, because Rosalind's words only make her laugh.

"I didn't say he wasn't good at manipulation, Rose. All I'm saying is that when it comes to girls, Reggie's more of a gentleman than that."

Rosalind stares at her for one long moment before huffing, "Fine. You _are_ related to him, so I guess you'd know."

As Narcissa nods, Vivian grumbles, "Regardless of all that, it was pretty strange how annoyed he seemed."

Rosalind nudges her in the side and whispers, "Maybe he _likes_ you, Blair."

Narcissa rolls her eyes. "Ugh. That's disgusting."

Vivian turns to her with an offended look on her face. "I kind of agree but _why_ is that disgusting?"

Narcissa sends her a Slytherin smirk and mutters, "It's nothing personal, Blair, but having you as an in-law is just a little too much for me to handle right about now."

Her drawling words immediately make Vivian's mouth drop open. She's slightly horrified to feel a blush crawl up her neck, and is quick to turn in her seat and face the classroom in hopes that it will save some of her dignity. It doesn't really, because Rosalind notices her blush and immediately starts to snicker in amusement.

"_Mr. and Mrs. Regulus and Vivian Black,"_ she whispers in Vivian's ear, her voice all mock-dreamy.

Vivian glares at her out of the corner of her eye and is quick to sink her elbow into her gut, feeling a vicious sense of satisfaction when she hears Rosalind let out a pained sound.

"You're so full of shit Rosalind," she mutters, and turns to look over at Flitwick as he steps up to his desk, trying to quiet down the class. As she does, though, her eyes land on a grey gaze that is staring straight at her, and for a split second, Vivian thinks she's looking at Regulus –

Until the grey eyes lift up into a smirk, and she realizes that she's actually staring at Sirius fucking Black and his little shit-eating grin.

She sends him a glare. He sends her a raised brow. Then, folding up a piece of paper, he fans it into his face with obnoxious fanfare, silently communicating to her that her face is still red.

Merlin she hates him.

"Now class, let's all turn our books to page 168 and continue learning about conjuring food and drink," Flitwick announces from atop his desk, and there is a general shuffling from the students as they all reach for their textbooks and begin to flip through them. Vivian shoots Sirius a hard look as she does the same, and then proceeds to ignore him altogether.

"I guess your secret admirer could be literally anyone in this school," Rosalind hums quietly, apparently having gotten over Vivian's elbowing. The words are said in an offhand manner, as if she's stopped caring who it is writing the poems. Vivian's happy for that, at least. She's been waiting for Rosalind to stop caring since she'd received the first one, weeks ago.

It's funny, though, how suddenly it seems as though their roles are reversed, for – Vivian hadn't cared about who this secret poet was at all, until…well, now.

Why does she care? Maybe it's because of the way Regulus had looked at her with those shuttered eyes that morning in the common room, as if he knew something she didn't. Maybe it's merely because some latent part of her is curious after all, despite the greater whole being entirely uncaring. Maybe it's because she can feel Sirius Black's eyes on her from across the room, heavy and unapologetic, and…

Well, maybe she'd like to be able to shove this knowledge in his face, and prove to him that there really is someone here that likes her.

* * *

"So what d'you think about it, so far?" Gavin wonders quite suddenly, falling into step beside Vivian as she heads to her Ancient Runes class after lunch. His presence is so unexpected, and she is so deep in her thoughts, that Vivian actually jumps back in shock.

"Merlin!" she exclaims, and raises a hand to rub at her heart, which is beating erratically in her chest. Gavin just pauses and sends her a quizzical look. Apparently he hadn't thought it possible to take someone like Vivian Blair off guard. She glowers at his expression and mutters, "What the hell, Clarke? What are you doing?"

Gavin pauses again, looks slightly confused, and shrugs, "…Great Expectations? How far along are you? Did you get to the part where Pip finds out who gave him his inheritance yet? That's my favorite – "

"Look, we probably shouldn't talk in the hallway like this," Vivian cuts in, and glances around to see if anyone has noticed them. They're in a busier corridor that many students use to get from class to class, as it travels across the castle and aligns with most of the staircases, but luckily there aren't many other Slytherins around. She turns back around to face him, only to find that he's staring at her with furrowed brows, and even though he's wearing his thick-rimmed glasses, she can still see the traces of his confusion splinter through his eyes.

"…Are you really that concerned about what other people think of you?" he finally asks, hitting the nail right on the head. She's a little surprised that he had come out and said it like that.

"…You don't understand, Clarke. You're not a part of my world," is all she responds with, and stalks forward again. She doesn't really expect him to follow her. She knows that she can be rude sometimes, and that her voice can be cold and that she can come across as being unfeeling and bitchy. She knows what her reputation is, and she knows that Gavin Clarke is probably as different from her as the sun is from the moon. And yet…

He catches up to her with three long strides, looking slightly annoyed as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shoves his hand into his pocket. And then, without looking at her, he says, "You know, you can be really aggravating sometimes."  
Vivian just huffs and opens her mouth to tell him off, but when she glances over at him, something makes her harsh words die before they can be formed. Gavin is doing a good job, appearing as if he isn't affected by her brush-off, but he's no Slytherin. There's no one in the world who can hide their feelings quite like a Slytherin can, and she can detect the shimmer of hurt in his eyes clear as day.

It's strange, but the sight of it makes her flounder.

Vivian Blair could count on one hand the number of times that she has apologized to someone since starting her Hogwarts career. It's quite strange, then, that it seems as though she is apologizing to Gavin Clarke, of all people, the most.

"…I'm sorry," she grudgingly tells him, and looks away quickly when he turns his head to catch her eye. With a huff, she mutters, "I don't suppose you've heard about the little shit who keeps sending me love poems, have you?"

The suddenness of her question and the abrupt change in topic seems to make _him_ flounder, this time. Clarke stares at her with raised eyebrows, his mouth twisted to the side in contemplation. If he is surprised upon receiving an apology from such an unlikely source, then said surprise is blown over by the puzzlement of her question.

Still, it only takes him a few moments to cautiously reply, "…The whole school knows about _that."_

He only looks a little chagrined at the stiff response. When Vivian turns to finally look at him, Clarke gives her a little shrug and reaches up to sweep his hand through his hair.

"What does that have to do with you not wanting to be seen in public with me?" he wonders, trying to move their conversation back to the topic at hand. He understands her reasoning, to an extent. Slytherin purebloods and Ravenclaw muggleborns don't usually have a need to talk to each other. The current social climate isn't something to be ignored or taken lightly, and the Blair family is well-known for being a fairly old and powerful presence in the wizarding world. Their views on muggleborns aren't hidden. It's just…

Well, he'd rather thought that after Hogsmeade, they had sort of…forged a friendship of sorts? He did let her borrow one of his favorite novels, after all. He doesn't usually let anyone touch his book collection. Vivian doesn't know that, though, and maybe she doesn't think it's very significant, seeing as she doesn't know Gavin Clarke all that well. But – it sort of is.

She sighs, glances around again, and then reaches out to grab his wrist and pull him over to the side of the corridor, behind a statue of an armored troll holding a mace. It's clear that the action takes him aback, because Gavin immediately looks like he wants to remove himself from the potentially scandalous position. His mouth flaps a bit and he feels a blush spread over his cheeks, and it's sort of ridiculous because Vivian isn't even that close to him but – it's just that he's never been pulled into a small, private alcove by a girl before.

"It's driving me insane," Vivian is saying, and doesn't seem to see Gavin's awkwardness. She's too busy pulling out a piece of parchment to notice the blush on his cheeks or the way he's trying to sink into the stone wall behind the statue, as if he's hoping he might disappear through the cracks of it.

"Er – what is?" he asks, clearing his throat. He resists the urge to look at his watch and check the time. His next class doesn't start for half an hour, but it's difficult to not fiddle with something.

Vivian lifts the parchment into the air and is about to hand it over to him when she pauses, narrows her eyes, and says, "First of all, you aren't allowed to talk about this. I _will know_ if you go around and gossip about me with your nerdy friends."

At this, Gavin finally remembers himself enough to roll his eyes at her and snark, "Why would I gossip about _you?_ I have way more important things to do than spread rumors."

Vivian stares at him for another moment with those narrowed eyes, as if she's trying to decide if he's telling the truth or not, and then sarcastically snorts, "Yeah, I guess you're usually too busy planning prefect schedules and helping Flitwick grade papers for fun."

Gavin narrows his eyes at her, too, and grouses, "You're being rude again, Vivian."

Vivian just shoves the parchment into his chest and mutters, "Whatever. Just read it and tell me what you think."

She has no idea why she's doing this. Gavin Clarke is definitely not the sort of person she would normally go to for assistance, in whatever form it comes in. What could he possibly have to say about the latest love poem that she hasn't already considered? She watches as he shoots her one last look before turning to the parchment and unfolding it, then she proceeds to lean against the wall and watch as he reads it.

Maybe – maybe she's doing this _precisely_ because it's Gavin Clarke, who isn't really her friend but isn't really her enemy, and therefore in the perfect position to give her proper feedback. Either way, it's actually kind of amusing, watching the emotions flutter through his eyes as he browses through the verses before him. He reads through it several times, from beginning to end, before finally looking up at her and raising an eyebrow.

Vivian waits for his verdict, curious to know his thoughts. When he doesn't immediately respond, she impatiently asks, "Well? Do you know anyone who would write something like that?"

Gavin opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks back at the letter and murmurs, "…Um…not really…?"

She stares at him for all of two seconds before rolling her eyes and grabbing the letter back. "Merlin, I don't know why I bothered. You're useless."

He crosses his arms. "And _you're_ asking the wrong questions."

At this, she pauses. "…What do you mean?"

Gavin sighs at her as if he thinks she's being inane, and shakes his head. In a very logical voice, he responds, "It's not a question of _who's_ writing the poems, Vivian, but rather _why_ they're writing them. In order to find the answers you're looking for, you have to look at it from another perspective."

She stares at him with a raised eyebrow, not really understanding why she's apparently asking the wrong question or why she had bothered initiating Clarke into it to begin with. Gavin must see the confusion in her eyes, because he sighs again and holds out his hand for the letter. She reluctantly hands it over again, half wishing that she could just rewind the last few minutes entirely.

Gavin opens the letter and shuffles closer to her so that they can both read it. It vaguely occurs to her that she's never been this close to him before, not even during their strange non-date in Hogsmeade. Their sleeves brush together and she can detect the faintest hint of something musky on his person, which is probably his shampoo.

If Gavin himself realizes their proximity (he'd have to be blind not to), then it doesn't show in his expression. He blankets his face as he turns to the letter and says, "Let's dissect this, shall we? It's fairly clear that this is someone who isn't that close to you. He claims to be in love with you, but he isn't able to be near you. Why do you think that is?"

He looks at her over the rim of his glasses, and Vivian sarcastically drawls, "Because he's a coward?"

Gavin pauses, then rolls his eyes. "I suppose that's a possibility, but it seems like there's something holding him back from expressing himself to you. Maybe a social divide, or some other social construct that people tend to look down on."

She wrinkles her nose at him and mutters, "So what, he's a muggleborn or something?" Gavin spears her a look, and she remembers that _he's_ a muggleborn and mutters, "…Sorry. Merlin. You know what? I'm not apologizing to you again so deal with it."

He sends her an unimpressed glower. "Being a muggleborn isn't a curse or something. I've never understood that whole perspective. We have magic, just the same as you."

Vivian just brushes the words away and automatically replies, "Yeah, but it isn't pure magic. It's been diluted. Tainted. It's not as strong."

He forgets about the letter for a moment to instead turn and stare at her, brow furrowed, mouth pursed, and Vivian wonders if she really has offended him this time and if he's decided that he'd rather not associate himself with her anymore. She thinks, quite suddenly, that it would be a great shame if he did come to that conclusion.

Instead of walking away, though, Gavin argues, "The more you school yourself in practicing magic, the more powerful your magic becomes. You might be right that a pureblood has stronger magic when they're born, but it doesn't necessarily mean that it will be stronger than a muggleborn's, say, a decade or two later."

Vivian isn't expecting this logical response. Actually, she isn't expecting a response at all. No one's ever argued about this to her before, especially not in such a sensible way. She raises her eyebrows at him, and Gavin apparently reckons that this particular debate is over for now as he turns back to the letter.

"We can have a debate about pureblood vs. muggleborn magic later. For now, let's get back to the matter at hand."

Vivian nods. "Right. So what you're saying is that he's either a coward, or he doesn't think he's good enough for me and instead of coming up and telling me he's in love with me, he'd decided to send me love letters because it's apparently a much better idea."

Gavin stares at her for one long moment before he groans and pushes his head against the wall, looking more than exasperated. He thinks that Vivian might just be the most frustrating person he's ever met, and he's not sure if he's impressed by this or just annoyed.

"…That's really not what I'm saying at all," he tells her, and she snorts.

"Well that's how I'm choosing to interpret it."

He ignores her to instead say, "It's not about whether he's _good_ enough for you or not. It's about trying to figure out what his purpose is for sending you these letters to begin with."

She peers over his arm to glance at the poem and scowls, "His purpose? I suppose that it's either because he's shit at communicating in person, or he's just messing with me."

She fully expects Gavin to argue with her again, as he seems to be wont to do today, but to her surprise, he merely nods in agreement and says, "Correct. He's either _shy_ or you're the tail end of a prank."

She ignores the way he's altered her words to grouse, "It's obviously a prank and this is some stupid little arsehole who thinks he's being funny – "

"What, you don't think someone could fall in love with you for real?" Gavin cuts in abruptly, and turns to look at her with a strange sort of clarity, as if he's got her pegged. She doesn't really like it.

"That's not what I said," she grumbles at him.

Gavin doesn't look entirely convinced that he's wrong, but he decides not to argue about it. It seems too deep a topic to consider in this moment. He doesn't know her well enough to feel comfortable getting overly philosophical. It's none of his business how Vivian Blair views herself.

"…Well anyway, those might be the most obvious reasons, but it's impossible to know for sure unless we figure out the answer to your first question," he says, folding the letter and handing it back to her. As she takes it, he adds, "Finding out who your secret admirer is though…that's practically impossible. There are too many variables. It could be anyone."

Vivian frowns as she tucks the letter away. "Yeah, I know. I guess I'll just have to wait for him to slip up."

Gavin nods. "Maybe he'll give himself away without even realizing it."

She mumbles to herself for a moment and then sighs, "Well this was a waste of time. You haven't really helped at all, Clarke. I need to get to Ancient Runes before the bell – "

And just like that, the bell rings.

Vivian scowls. "Shit. Gotta go." She pushes herself off the wall and ducks around the troll statue. It'll take her a few minutes to reach her Ancient Runes classroom. She just hopes that Professor Gillanders is too swept up in one of her speeches about Welsh history to notice her tardiness.

She's at the end of the hallway by the time Gavin catches up to her again.

"You never answered my other question, Vivian – "

"Yeah, yeah, I'm really enjoying Great Expectations but this isn't really a good time for a literary debate, Clarke," she begins, only for him to cut her off.

"I was actually referring to the fact that you don't want to be seen in public with me."

At this, she snaps her mouth shut and looks straight ahead, walking a little faster. It doesn't do her any good, of course. Gavin has long legs. He is a gawky Ravenclaw, after all.

"Look, I get it. You're a Slytherin pureblood and I'm…well, not. That doesn't mean we can't be friends though – "

"I've got to be careful this year, Clarke. Times are changing…I can't draw attention to myself."

"Vivian, I – "

"You're a muggleborn," she says, and he falters, falling behind. She doesn't stop walking and just keeps powerwalking forward. As she rounds the corner, she calls, "I'll return your book at the next prefect meeting, Clarke."

And, well, Gavin doesn't respond, but she doesn't really expect him to. She also doesn't expect the strange pang in her heart as she walks away, as if she actually feels bad for hurting him. And yet, somehow, for some reason…

She does.


	21. Mens divinior

**Chapter Twenty One | Mens divinior**

**[An inspired mind]**

Vivian isn't the type of person to agonize over her actions. Whether someone likes her or not doesn't usually matter to her, or so she thinks. She'd like to the believe that she is above the pettiness of human emotions, but in reality, she isn't. The truth of the matter is that some people have a thicker skin, and some people don't. Some people find it easier to cast off the opinions of others, and some people absorb those opinions and allow them to alter their perspectives. It isn't a question of whether or not you are above this pettiness, but rather how you handle it when you inevitably experience it. For Vivian Blair, who is accustomed to casting it off and pretending that it doesn't affect her, she feels suddenly lost when she realizes that it actually does.

Apparently, Slytherins aren't the only ones who are good at deflecting someone.

" – seems as though the astronomy tower isn't the only place we need to keep an eye on," Gavin is saying as he dictates the prefect meeting later that week. It's nearing the end of November, which means that there aren't that many prefect meetings scheduled before Christmas break. As usual, Gavin has taken charge of the topics that they are discussing, no doubt hoping to cover everything before the opportunity disappears. He's even gone so far as to write up several points, from which he keeps referring back to during his speech. Vivian honestly doesn't understand why Dumbledore hadn't made him Head Boy. In comparison, Potter looks like he's bored to tears as he leans against the far wall, and not even the sight of his ladylove can wake him out of said boredom.

"I found three couples in the western courtyard this week alone," Gavin informs them, shaking his head at the injustice of it all. "We obviously need to have more people patrolling the first floor and the grounds, so I'll be redoing the schedules and pairing off those of you who are assigned to that part of the castle – "

Vivian stands behind what she had said previously: Clarke is a total nerd and he takes his prefect duties way too seriously. That said, she's been trying to catch his eye all evening without success, and is growing more concerned with every failed attempt. Is he really that angry with her? She knows that they aren't really friends. Sure, they've gotten to know each other on the Hogsmeade trip, and he let her borrow one of his books, and he's knowledgeable enough about literature to hold an actual conversation with her, but she figured that he was aware that friendship just isn't on the table for them. It's not that she finds his muggleborn heritage to be some repulsive thing. It's just that…well, he _is_ a muggleborn, and she doesn't think he realizes just how wide the gap between them is. She can't just go around befriending people like him. This is a game of survival, and not just of the social kind.

" – In this instance, I believe that the adage 'there is strength in numbers' applies – "

It's true that Vivian has never really cared much for what other people think of her. However, it's also true that, with the growing darkness outside of Hogwarts, her entire house is in a very precarious position. Lean to far too far into the darkness, and be labeled a future Death Eater, hunted down by the Ministry and sneered at by society. Lean too far away from the darkness, and she could be cast from her social circles and become the target of not the Ministry, but of the very people that she ought to align herself with.

It's all very straightforward for someone like Gavin Clarke, though. He doesn't have the same choices that she does. He isn't standing on the same ledge that she finds herself teetering on, wondering if she should make the leap and leave behind the world she's always known, or step back from the edge and throw herself in the other direction.

Still, regardless of all that, she hadn't meant to hurt him when she'd called him a muggleborn earlier that week. She had only been trying to explain the reasons as to why being seen in public together could backfire on them both. Mulciber has been eyeing him a little too darkly for her liking, and his little group of wannabe Death Eaters have taken to shooting her similar glances since the Hogsmeade trip and the confrontation outside of the Three Broomsticks. She's not necessarily afraid of them, but she'd be an idiot not to feel a bit wary to be on the receiving end of such looks.

She knows better than most the kind of hatred that they have towards muggleborns. She's heard enough of their conversations to know that they wouldn't be above targeting Gavin. Being inside of Hogwarts lends him a certain amount of protection, but there are plenty of ways to get to someone, and Mulciber's friends happen to be well-versed in curses. They also have more sway than other students, given their family status and power.

" – So in conclusion, here are the new schedules for the next two weeks. Those of you who have been assigned the first floor will be paired into groups of two – "

"You didn't have to go through all that trouble, Clarke," Potter suddenly interrupts. Apparently, the words 'paired off' have broken him out of his stupor, because he's quick to throw his arm around Lily's shoulders and declare, "It's only right that the Head Girl and Boy should take on that kind of responsibility."

Lily is equally as quick to scoff and throw his arm off of her, looking annoyed. "You, responsible?" she mutters. "Do you even know what that word means, Potter?"

James just sends her a boyish grin and responds, "Sure I do. I'm very responsible, Evans. I believe in treating everyone with respect and consideration."

On the other side of the room, Vivian snorts.

James shoots her a glower. "Shut it, Blair."

Respect, indeed.

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Since you're so considerate, you can pass these out, James." He hands him the stack of schedules and Potter eagerly takes them, scanning the sheet to see when he'll be patrolling with his ladylove. He feels quite disappointed when he doesn't see their names together.

"What the hell, Clarke?" he complains. "I can't trust my Lilyflower with a bloke like Wilson – "

Wilson, who happens to be the most laidback and easy going Hufflepuff there ever was, shakes his head at him, but – James isn't quite finished yet, because that's about the time that he gets to the end of the schedule.

His eyes bug out. _"Blair?_ Are you _kidding_ me? I am not patrolling with her! She'll probably drown me in a lavatory!"

At this, Vivian furrows her brow and marches forward to grab one of the schedules that Potter is still holding, apparently not remembering that he's in charge of passing them out to the rest of them. She snatches the stack to see if he's being serious or not, and when she sees that he is, she narrows her eyes at Gavin.

"You paired me with _this_ idiot?" then, glancing over at James, she adds, "Also that's a pretty good idea, Potter. I might try that sometime."

He glowers at her, but before he can respond, Gavin cuts in with a logical, "There are only so many of us. Having you two patrol together was bound to happen at some point." He shrugs and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, finally meeting Vivian's eye for the first time all evening. Apparently, Gavin Clarke has an exceptional poker face, because she can't tell if he's inwardly crowing with glee at her frustration or just being his usual rational self.

She's leaning towards inwardly crowing with glee, though. (Ravenclaws are sneaky about their revenge.)

Vivian shoves the stack of schedules back into Potter's arms after grabbing one for herself, and snorts, "Well I can't promise that I won't toss you in the Black Lake and let the grindylows have you."

James barks out a laugh. "And I can't promise that I won't bring a couple of dungbombs along with me on patrol one evening."

"You throw a dungbomb at me and I will hex you so badly, you won't be able to look in the mirror for the rest of the school year."

"Well I guess you know all about avoiding mirrors, Blair, seeing as you're so incredibly ugly."

"And you are truly the most _respectable_ and _considerate_ person I've ever met, Potter."

"I'm considerate to those who deserve it."

"Please. You're the _worst_ sort of person. You pretend to be a perfect gentleman, but we all know how much of a lie that is."

Potter looks quite indignant upon hearing this. He opens his mouth to give her a scathing reply, but Lily cuts in with an annoyed, "Would you both shut up? This is a prefect meeting." Under her breath, she mutters, "Responsible. As if."

Potter only glares at Vivian all the more when Lily mutters those words, apparently blaming her for his ladylove's lack of admiration for him. Vivian just sneers right back.

"Thank you, Lily," Gavin says, nodding to the Head Girl.

Lily smiles at him, and James turns his glower to Clarke, looking like he wants to pummel him for being on the receiving end of one of Lily's gorgeous smiles. Gavin ignores the look to instead say, "I think this meeting is over. Does anyone have any questions?"

No one seems to. James looks like he wants to continue demanding why he has to patrol with Vivian and why he can't be with Lily, but Remus is quick to pull him towards the door before he can make more of a fuss about it.

"No questions here," Remus calls over his shoulder. "We'll just be going, then." He grabs James arm in a tight hold and Vivian is somewhat surprised that he's apparently stronger than he looks, because no matter how much James tries to break free, he can't seem to be able to. She smirks at him as he's dragged out of the meeting, her eyes flashing with promises of hexes, and he glares right back at her until the door shuts behind him.

"Well then, I have things to do, so let's all agree to meet again in two weeks to go over the patrols," Gavin announces. Everyone agrees and begins to leave, intent on returning to their common rooms or heading down to dinner. Vivian, though, waits. She happens to be very good at confrontations, but she isn't overly interested in doing this in front of everyone.

"Clarke," she calls, and steps in front of him before he can head to the door. The other prefects don't linger to see what's going on. They continue to shuffle out of the door, and even though Vivian would rather talk to Gavin without any spectators at all, she knows from the look in his eye that he's seconds away from darting around her and escaping.

"I said I have things to do, Vivian," he mutters, shuffling a bit in an awkward sort of way.

Vivian crosses her arms and sarcastically drawls, "Yes I'm sure you have lots of extra credit essays to write, but I wanted to return your book."

He glances over at her as she riffles through her bookbag. His copy of Great Expectations is in pristine condition, but it doesn't stop him from leafing through it to be doubly sure. Vivian watches as he does, looking vaguely unimpressed at his lack of trust but deciding that she isn't offended by it. She'd probably do the same thing if someone borrowed one of her Austen books, and besides – this is Gavin Clarke, and he's a perfectionist.

"Right. Well, it looks to be in good shape," Gavin sniffs, and tucks the book under his arm. "I suppose I'll see you around, then – "

He starts to edge around her figure, but she reaches out to grab his shoulder to push him back. The disgruntled look on his face speaks volumes to her.

"Look, Clarke, about before – "

"I understand, Vivian. I'm not good enough to be your friend because I'm a muggleborn," he says in a clipped tone, lifting his chin into the air with a certain haughtiness. She can't entirely blame him for it but it does make her impatient.

Frustrated, she tells him, "It has nothing to do with what _I _think. It's what everyone _else_ thinks – "

"Yes, I've gathered that much," he cuts in. "For someone who pretends not to care for the opinions of others, you're certainly more self-conscious than I would have thought."

She glowers at him, plants herself directly in front of him when he tries to skirt around her again, and growls, "I'm trying to protect you, you idiot. Do you know how Mulciber talks about you? He seems to think that you'd make an excellent target when it comes to testing out some of his new curses. This has nothing to do with you or me. Open your eyes, Clarke."

This time, Gavin meets her gaze unflinchingly. He looks somewhat surprised, but there's another emotion on his face too, and it looks like determination.

"I can take care of myself," he tells her, furrowing his brows. It isn't in anger, though. Rather, he looks perplexed, as if he can't quite understand why Vivian Blair would protect him, or why she would seem at all concerned about what one of her own housemates has planned for him.

Vivian shakes her head. "Trust me, Clarke, this isn't something you want to deal with. Mulciber and his friends – they aren't people to disregard." He's still frowning in that perplexed way, so she impatiently adds, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier but it's for your own good."

He purses his mouth. "It's for _your_ own good, too."

"…Yeah, it is. I wasn't joking about staying under the radar this year. The purebloods families…well, let's just say that most of them are very _interested_ in the Dark Lord's perspective. Being friends with someone like you would make things difficult for me," she admits, though not in a mean way. Her words are blunt but not scathing. She is merely stating a fact – or, at least, something she believes to be a fact.

There is such a murky line between what is factual and what is merely constructed from your own set of beliefs, though.

Gavin pauses for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. He studies her carefully, as if he's seeing her in a new light, deeper and with more clarity than he had before. It's like he's looking into a dark lake, when the water is disturbed and the sand swirls around like fog – and then it begins to settle once more, and he can suddenly see all the details he had previously missed shifting to the bottom of it. Then, in a slow voice, he quietly says, "You don't have to choose that path, Vivian. Just because something is expected of you doesn't mean you're obligated to take part in it."

She stares at him in surprise, not expecting to hear this. If anything, she'd have expected him to scoff at her and take his leave, deciding that she is too complicated for him. Too problematic to bother with.

Gavin sighs at her. "Look, I'm not saying that we should be best friends or anything, but you make some pretty good literary arguments, and I wouldn't be averse to having more debates in the future. If you decide that you'd like to, that is. Or – uh, if you get bored with Austen and you want to read some more of Dickens, I can…well I have his entire collection and I really recommend Oliver Twist if you're interested – "

"Did you not just hear me?" she interrupts, feeling a bit baffled.

Gavin looks a bit annoyed that she'd cut him off. He rolls his eyes at her and grouses, _"Yes,_ I heard you. All I'm saying is that – "

"You want me to join your book club," she deadpans.

He tips his head back a bit and impatiently mutters, "You are so frustrating sometimes."

This time, the corner of her mouth twitches just so, and he's got a feeling that she's trying not to laugh. Well at least she's aware of her own frustrating personality.

Hitching his book up a bit, Gavin sighs, "Look, Vivian, you're overthinking this. I accept your apology and I understand what you're saying but sooner or later, you're going to need to make a decision about where you stand and what you believe in, because it doesn't seem to me that someone who enjoys reading Charles Dickens and Jane Austen belongs in a world that hates muggles. Now if that's all, I'll see you in class tomorrow. I really do have a lot of work to finish tonight."

Vivian very rarely struggles with the symptoms of speechlessness, but she'd be damned if Gavin Clarke's words don't completely shut her up in this moment. All she can do is gape at him, her mouth parted in surprise. If she's being honest, this entire conversation hadn't gone at all as she'd planned for it to. She certainly hadn't expected for him to just come out and tell her that she doesn't fit into the world she's always been a part of. She isn't sure how she feels about that, but suspects that some part of it is discomfort at being seen through in such a way. Is she really that easy to read, or is it just some Ravenclaw talent that she hadn't known existed?

Gavin doesn't look very interested in sticking around to explain it to her. This time when he goes to walk around her, she doesn't stop him, and he sighs out once more before murmuring, "I'll see you later, Vivian," as if he wants to make sure that she knows there is no bad blood between them. Then, without waiting for her response (probably a good thing, since she's still battling with that speechlessness), he ducks out of the classroom and disappears, and Vivian just stands there in the middle of it and furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

What had just happened?

More importantly, is Clarke right about what he'd said?

She raises a hand to sweep it through her hair, winces when it hits a snag, and promptly decides that maybe Clarke is right about one thing, at least: she really needs to stop thinking right now because her head is practically spinning. She shakes her head and turns – and then halts right in her tracks, because that's about the time when she realizes she isn't as alone as she'd thought she was.

"…Do you want something, Evans?" she drawls, but the usual sarcastic lilt of her voice sounds off.

She's not sure if Lily had overheard any of her and Clarke's discussion, seeing as they had been talking in quiet voices, but after a hesitant moment, Lily makes it clear that she'd gotten the gist of it. She pauses, looking a bit uncomfortable, and clears her throat before admitting, "Sorry, Blair. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. It's just that Potter annoyed me so much, I forgot to grab my schedule before." She waves the parchment a bit as if trying to prove her own innocence, and shrugs halfheartedly.

Vivian stares at her for one long moment before huffing, "Yeah whatever, I don't really care," and heading to the door.

She really _doesn't_ care, actually. Lily isn't half bad, for a Gryffindor. She trusts that the girl won't go around spreading false rumors about her and Clarke. She also has Vivian's respect – as much of it as a Gryffindor can have, at least – because of her treatment of Potter. All of those public rejections are truly wonderful to behold, especially because Potter is the one to blame for hitting on Lily in crowded places. Seeing his downtrodden expressions after Lily puts him in his place literally makes Vivian's day.

She sweeps past Lily and out of the door. To her surprise, Lily falls into step beside her as if a Gryffindor and a Slytherin walking down the corridor together is the most natural thing in the world. It would be, if there were hexes involved, but as it is, well…Vivian's just a little bit weirded out.

She shoots Lily a raised eyebrow. "What do you want, Evans? To join forces and drown Potter in the boy's lavatory?"

At this, Lily coughs out a laugh. "Maybe another time. I just wanted to say, about what Gavin said – "

"Oh no, I am not discussing this with you. You're a muggleborn Gryffindor and that's a line I'm definitely not crossing," Vivian tells her, and picks up her pace.

Lily rolls her eyes and does the same. "Fine then. So what's your favorite Austen novel? I personally like Pride and Prejudice the best."

For the second time that evening, Vivian stops to stare speechlessly, and Lily sends her a shrugging smile. Several seconds pass by, in which the pair of them just stand there in the middle of the hallway, and then…

"Pride and Prejudice is overrated," Vivian snarks at her, and continues walking.

Lily pauses for only a moment before following.

"What about Emma?"

"Emma isn't terrible, but there's not enough suffering."

Lily raises an eyebrow at this, unsure if she should be surprised or not. "Austen isn't that well-known for making her characters suffer. Heartbreak isn't really her thing."

Vivian rolls her eyes. "Sure it is. Anne makes Wentworth suffer for eight years before she finally stops being an idiot and accepts him. Wentworth uses his own heartbreak to propel him through society until he's in a higher social position, and only then does Anne agree to marry him. She basically puts him through hell."

If Lily had been expecting a more inane response, then she is truly shocked to hear the one she actually receives. Vivian's in-depth description of the sort of suffering included in Austen's world has her pausing, considering this viewpoint.

"…I've never thought about it from Wentworth's perspective before. Is that your favorite Austen novel, then?" she wonders.

Vivian scoffs. She glances over at Lily and replies, "I don't have a favorite. I just like Wentworth's character is all. Now I'm going to remove myself from this random conversation and go eat dinner. See you around, Evans." She heads over to the Great Hall, whose doors loom up in the distance, and as she's taking her leave, she calls back, "Just let me know when you want to ambush Potter. We could also just lock him in the loo if you're not the drowning sort, but I think it would be fun to push his face into the toilet a few times just to make sure he gets the memo, you know?"

She doesn't wait around to see Lily's response, but she thinks that she hears the faintest snort of laughter behind her as she disappears into the Great Hall.

* * *

Sirius could count on one hand the number of times that his brother has willingly approached him within the halls of Hogwarts. Passing glowers in the corridors don't count. No, he's talking about Regulus, his perfect brother who can do no wrong in their parents' eyes, walking up to him to hold an actual conversation.

Well actually, calling it a conversation might be pushing the definition just a little bit.

"I know what you're up to," Regulus starts off with. Technically, he doesn't actually walk up to Sirius, but rather leans against the wall outside of the Great Hall with his arms crossed, probably trying to look cool and collected. Dinner is nearly over by now, but most of the students are still finishing their meals and haven't yet left the Great Hall. The Marauders apparently have other plans tonight, though.

At the sound of his brother's voice, Sirius glances over in surprise. Regulus usually keeps to himself and ignores Sirius's existence entirely, probably because acknowledging his blood traitor sibling would go against his future-Death-Eater plans. It's very unusual for Regulus to actually start a conversation with him. What isn't very unusual is how annoyingly vague he is.

The other Marauders shoot Regulus baffled and distrusting looks. As for Sirius…

"Could you be a little more specific, brother dearest? There's a lot of things that I get up to," Sirius drawls, sounding sarcastic and disrespectful. His tone doesn't seem to effect Regulus at all, though. His brother just scoffs quietly and eyes Sirius as if he can see right through him.

He casts a glance at the other Marauders as he pushes off of the wall, but doesn't seem to care that they are privy to this confrontation. There aren't exactly many opportunities for Regulus to speak to his brother without his gang of idiotic Gryffindors trailing behind him, and besides, he figures that it might be enlightening to watch their reactions to what he's about to say. Oftentimes, it is the silent reactions that speak the most words.

"Your latest prank?" Regulus says, making sure to sound just as disrespectful as his brother. "The one where you pretend to be a _poet?"_ The last word is sneered and coated in a generous heaping of disgust.

Sirius has an impeccable poker face. His friends do not. Regulus watches his brother for any sign of recognition, but he's also watching the other Marauders out of the corner of his eye. Potter raises his eyebrows in interest, Lupin's mouth thins and he drops his eyes to the flagstones uncomfortably, and Pettigrew loosens his tie and looks altogether sheepish.

Sirius just snorts. "I'm not sure I'm following, Reggie. Just what are you accusing me of?"

Regulus raises an eyebrow. Grey clashes with grey, but this time, it isn't a mere thunder shower. No, this is more like a tornado, when the wind sluices through the air so fast that you can barely walk, and the skies turn an ashen grey and fill with debris that is lifted into the air as if it weighs little more than a feather; and when the tunnel of wind touches ground, it does so with so much destruction that the world as you know it is suddenly and unconditionally changed.

Regulus's eyes narrow, and in a voice that is a little _too_ calm, he says, "You're the one sending Vivian those love letters. Aren't you."

If Sirius had expected for his brother to come right out and say it, he doesn't show it on his face. Instead, he just composes his expression into one of scoffing amusement and drawls, "You think _I'm_ her secret admirer? Are you _insane?"_

Regulus is many things, but – not insane.

"I'm observant," he replies in that too-calm voice. "I hear things. See things. For example, your friends look extremely guilty right now. Why's that, Potter?"

James looks taken aback at being included in the conversation so suddenly, but before he can think up a response, Sirius shoots him a look that clearly tells him to keep quiet. Then, turning back to his brother, he shakes his head as if he pities Regulus, and sarcastically says, "You're always jumping to conclusions about my character, Reggie. I guess you don't think too highly of your big brother."

From the look on Regulus's face, it's clear enough that this, at least, is true.

Regulus narrows his eyes. "My only question is why are you doing it? Is it some twisted prank you've come up with, or do you actually like her?"

Sirius barks out a laugh and crosses his arms. "Let's just get this straightened out, shall we? You're talking about Vivian? Bitchy Slytherin ice princess. The snake I don't give two fucks about. The girl I couldn't care less for. _That_ Vivian Blair?"

Regulus glowers at him and his circular response, unimpressed with his tactics. But Sirius isn't quite finished, yet.

"So you think I'm writing love letters to someone I've hated for my entire life, like I've had some sort of existential change of heart? You think I'd actually sit down and write a poem for _her_?"

Regulus steps forward angrily, but –

"I don't know why you think I'd waste my time on a girl like that, Reggie. I'm Sirius Black. I could have anyone I wanted, and I wouldn't want Vivian Blair if she was the last girl in existence and there were no other people around to ensure that the human species continued."

Regulus clenches his fist, but…well.

"I'm really glad to hear that, blood traitor. The thought of you wanting me literally makes me want to puke my guts up and strangle myself simultaneously," Vivian Blair drawls from the entrance of the Great Hall.

As one, all four Marauders and Regulus turn in surprise, having not heard her arrival and unsure as to how much of their confrontation she had witnessed. Vivian just sneers at Sirius with an unimpressed look, but…well, it's strange, but the more Sirius gapes at her, the more he wonders if perhaps _he's_ the one going insane, because he swears he sees the faintest hint of hurt in the muddy brown of her eyes.

Is it possible? Had he hurt her? Why? She must have expected him to feel this way about her. It isn't as if they've ever held back on their sneering insults in the past. She's said worse to him, in his opinion, than what he had just said. And anyway, it's not like he cares if he's hurt her. He should be happy about it. Hurting her is his end-goal; his coup de grace.

Vivian turns to spear Regulus with one of her unimpressed glowers next, as if she thinks that the both of them are idiots. Regulus isn't really sure what to think about it, but he doesn't exactly have time to figure it out before she's sweeping past them with one last chilling glare and disappearing down the corridor that will take her to the dungeons.

A strange silence falls upon the group. The Marauders stare at each other, and then at Regulus, and then at the floor, and then back at each other. The tornado seems to have dissipated, but not in any way that is satisfactory. The Black siblings look entirely unsure even as they glower at each other. They both seem a bit taken aback at Vivian's abrupt entrance and just as abrupt exit. It seems to have thrown them both for a loop.

And then…

"If I find out that you really have written those letters, I will be informing Blair of it," Regulus threatens.

Sirius snorts. "Oh wow, I'm shaking in my shoes. She's already got you on a leash, hasn't she? I wonder if she knows what power she has over you, Reg. You should know better than that.'

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Regulus doesn't really feel like holding back anymore, but the moment he steps forward to throw a punch as his idiot brother, it is by some stroke of luck that Slughorn happens to waddle around the corner, looking a bit anxious. He isn't anxious about his wayward students, though.

"Ah – boys! Is dinner over yet? I accidentally fell asleep whilst grading first year essays – dreadfully boring – oh, I could do with some fish and chips right about now. Perfect dinner after reading several dozen droning essays. I swear, sometimes I wonder if I should just quit and get a job in a nice, quiet bookstore somewhere…no bratty children in sight – "

Slughorn doesn't even wait around to see what his students are up to. His focus is so swept up on his dinner that he probably hadn't even fully seen who he was talking to. His entrance and exit is just as abrupt, if not more so, than Vivian's, but unlike her, he unknowingly succeeds in dispelling the rough atmosphere of the hallway as he muddles his way past them and into the Great Hall.

All five of them stare at Slughorn until he vanishes from sight, and then all turn back to stare at each other in bafflement.

"…Yeah, it was nice talking to you, _Reggie,_ but we have things to do," James says, and doesn't look at all afraid of the glare that Regulus shoots him for butchering his name.

Sirius nods and rejoins his friends. "Maybe you should get some actual evidence before you accuse me of something, Reg."

Remus and Peter don't say anything at all, and Peter even goes so far as to take the lead, looking like he's seconds away from breaking out into a run and escaping to safety.

As for Regulus, he just glowers after them and wonders if he'd been too hasty after all, and if perhaps he really had jumped to conclusions. After all, Sirius _hates_ Vivian. He's hated her for years. He hates her with a burning passion. The moment he stops hating her, the world will probably burn with apocalyptic fire.

* * *

"Can you believe that little shit?" Sirius complains as he throws himself onto the couch in front of the fireplace. The Gryffindor common room is beginning to fill up with students coming back from dinner, but the Marauders pay them no mind. They're a little too preoccupied by the latest events to notice anyone else.

James joins him, tossing his bag down and stretching his legs onto the small table in front of the couch. As he leans back, he mutters, "Your brother is a total jerk, Padfoot."

Sirius snorts. "Yeah, that's the understatement of the century. He pretends to be this gentleman goody-two-shoes but he's not. I don't know how everyone falls for it."

By 'everyone', he actually just means one person. One person who happens to get under his skin better than anyone he's ever met. Honestly, what is wrong with Vivian Blair, anyway? She's a Slytherin, isn't she? Shouldn't she know that his brother isn't the chivalrous knight that he likes to pretend to be in his spare time? She of all people should know about that sort of manipulation. She's probably around it often enough that she should be able to see it coming a mile away.

"Point is, he's onto you, Sirius," Remus says as he takes a seat on the floor and opens his bookbag. He pulls out his Transfiguration notes, but he doubts he'll get much studying done. Between general Marauding antics and the sorry state of Sirius's lowkey obsession over Vivian Blair, getting actual work done these days is even harder than usual.

Sirius grunts. "Nah. He was just trying to figure out if his speculations were true. That's what my brother does – he spins this complicated web and tries to catch you in your own lies. He's like a creepy little spider."

Peter shivers at the description and hesitantly says, "…But he at least _thinks_ he's onto you, Padfoot, which means he'll be watching you." He shivers again at the thought of _any_ Slytherin watching them.

To this, James staunchly replies, "He can watch us all he likes. He's not gonna get anything on us."

Sirius nods agreeably and slaps his hand onto James's shoulder. "Right you are, Prongs. Reggie's got to learn to mind his own business. Anyway, I can't believe he thought I _like_ _Blair_. What a tosser!"

And that sentence, right there, is what makes the other Marauders quiet down into amused silence. Well, except for one.

Peter nods vigorously and says, "That's crazy!"

"I know, right?" Sirius jumps up to agree. "As if I could like someone like Vivian Blair. She's foul."

James shrugs. "That Ravenclaw girl – what's her name? – Anna McDougal. She's way fouler, especially when she chews on her pencil with those buckteeth." Remus glances at him with a raised eyebrow, wondering where he's going with this. James just shoots him a look and adds, "And Minnie Fluchet, Merlin, even her name is cringeworthy."

A slow smile creeps over Remus's face. He clears his throat to remove all traces of smirking smugness when he nods, "Yeah, you're right, Prongs. As far as girls go, Blair's not as bad as some of them. Like…er, Sydney Burk, for example. She's, um…she's got a really annoying voice."

James doesn't look too impressed with Remus's stumbling addition. Neither, apparently, does Sirius.

With a quizzical expression, he says, "Burk? Her voice isn't annoying. Besides, she's fit. Shame about her last name though, isn't it? It sort of ruins the appeal."

James rolls his eyes. "I think what Remus meant to say is that she's a know-it-all and she never shuts up."

Remus nods weakly. Bashing girls isn't exactly his forte, regardless of the reasons as to why they're engaging in the sport this evening.

"Right," Remus coughs. "She gossips a lot, too."

James sighs at him. "Anyway, Blair might be a foul little prat who thinks it's funny to threaten to drown you in lavatories in her spare time, but my point is that – "

"You were the one who suggested it, Potter," Lily Evans suddenly remarks as she makes her way around the couch. It's clear that she's on her way to the girl's dormitories, and hardly spares James a glance on her way. She can't quite help but throw in the snarky comment as she goes, though. This is James Potter, after all, and he annoys the hell out of her.

The other Marauders, sans Remus, look confused as to what this lavatory talk is all about, but James doesn't have time to fill them in on the latest prefect meeting drama. His ladylove is in his midst and an opportunity like this doesn't happen every day. Well – actually it does (same house and all) but still.

"Oh come on, Lilyflower, even _you_ have to agree that Blair is mentally unstable! She wasn't supposed to take that idea and run with it. I'm actually considering maiming myself just to get out of patrolling with her," he complains.

Sirius immediately sits up to incredulously repeat, _"Patrol_ with her?", but he goes entirely unheard when James quickly adds, "Gavin must be insane for pairing me off with her when he obviously knows she hates me."

Lily doesn't look like she cares overmuch for James's latest plight. With a huff, she rolls her eyes and snaps, "Don't be ridiculous. Like he said, there are only so many prefects to pair off. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

James pouts. In a voice that he probably thinks is suave but actually sounds a bit whiny, he says, "I'd rather patrol with you."

Lily looks a bit nauseous at this. She pauses for half a second, clearly not knowing how to respond, and then decides not to respond at all. Instead, she merely says, "I really don't know what any of you have against Vivian anyhow. Personally, I feel a bit bad for her."

Sirius splutters_, "Bad_ for her - ?"

"Shut up, Sirius. Anyway, she's clearly in a stressful situation with the rest of her house right now. I heard her and Gavin talking after the prefect meeting was over and it sounds like she really doesn't know how to deal with Mulciber and his friends."

Sirius raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth, but Lily overrides him with a clipped, "I think she really likes Gavin, you know? They'd be really good together, but – "

"_But_ he's a muggleborn," Sirius hurriedly inputs. Then he promptly cringes back into the couch when Lily spears him with one of her no-nonsense glowers.

She narrows her eyes at him and continues as if he hadn't interrupted her_. "But_ she thinks that being friends with him would put him in a bad position with the rest of her house. She's worried that Mulciber might target him."

Sirius scoffs loudly at this as if he doesn't believe her. Meanwhile, Remus sighs and pushes his textbook away (like he said, studying is never easy these days), Peter nervously adjusts and readjusts his rolled-up sleeves, and James continuously looks between Padfoot and Lilyflower with a baffled and slightly put-off expression, not overly pleased that Lily's attention is no longer on him.

"Worried? We're talking about Vivian Blair, right? Why would she be worried about Mulciber targeting Tosspot Clarke? If anything, she's the mastermind behind the plans," Sirius grouses. He crosses his arms and stares straight ahead, easily envisioning this. He exudes obstinacy.

Lily just exudes impatience. She shoots him an irritated look and barks, "You're so full of yourself, Sirius. It's no wonder why you were sorted into Gryffindor – your ego is what put you here. It all makes sense now."

Sirius sits up straighter, looking rather offended, but Lily just rolls her eyes again and glances over at James. When he notices that her attention is once more upon him, he, too, sits up straighter and starts to smile winsomely at her – until she grouses, "It's no wonder you're friends with Potter. His ego is even _worse."_

And with that, Lily turns on her heel and stomps off to the girl's dormitories at long last, eager to be rid of ego-driven males and their ridiculously skewed perspectives of the world at large. Remus watches her go with an amused smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. Peter pauses momentarily in adjusting his sleeves, but quickly resumes the task when James and Sirius turn to gape at each other in baffled confusion. Sirius looks downright disoriented. James looks a little bit upset, a little bit bewildered, and a little bit enamored.

"…Merlin, that woman's barmy, but aren't her eyes gorgeous when she's angry?" James muses after a moment, and then yelps as he dodges the pillow that Sirius throws at him.

"Don't get distracted by a pretty woman, Prongs."

"Don't call her a pretty woman, Padfoot. In fact – don't even look at her. She's off-limits."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "I'd honestly rather snog a tree, Prongs. Now anyway – shut up, Moony, I can hear you snickering and I don't want any tree jokes from you – can we go back to the topic at hand?"

Remus sarcastically wonders, "You mean you want to discuss how worried Vivian is about Mulciber targeting Gavin?"

Sirius immediately nods. "Yes. No. I mean, she can't be worried. That would be ridiculous, right? That would mean that Blair isn't as bad as some people are. As far as girls go, anyway."

The other Marauders stare at him for a moment before James smirks, "Padfoot's in love, Moony. I've always wondered when he'd want to leave the nest and fly free – oi! No need to _kick_ me! This is the second time you've outright abused me _this week!"_

Sirius just glowers at him and arrogantly responds, "You are a twat, Prongs, and you deserve it."

With that, Sirius gets up, turns on his heel, and stomps off to the boy's dormitories at long last, eager to be rid of this entire conversation.

Honestly! In love with Vivian Blair! How ludicrous! How insipid! How disgusting!

(He does wonder, though, if Lily has a point, and if perhaps he is being a bit too harsh on Vivian by allowing his ego to get in the way of his judgement, but – it's only the smallest of wonderings; the tiniest of considerations; like a morsel of thought that barely registers on any cognizant level, but has some inherent unconscious reaction within him.)

With a pursed frown, Sirius throws himself onto his bed, grabs a spare bit of parchment, and opens his inkwell. Some minutes pass as he musingly throws words together in what he hopes is a perfectly cringeworthy expression of mushy love. He checks it over a few times, arranges some of the words as he gleefully imagines Vivian's annoyed expression when she receives the letter, and –

Well, that's the thing about the unconscious mind, isn't it? He is not aware that his words are gentler than usual, and more praiseworthy and more reverent. He is not aware that, as he writes the poem, he thinks upon the look on her face when she had overheard his words in the Great Hall (that barely-there crease of hurt; that subtle injury). He is most definitely not aware that he hopes these words might erase that expression.

A simple spell lifts up the letter. It lingers there in the air for a moment before Sirius gives a swish of his wand and watches the parchment immediately dart away, wriggling underneath the door and disappearing. Then he leans back and smirks to himself as he imagines the annoyed expression on Vivian's face when that letter finally reaches her.

No, this awareness is not yet known to him. It has not yet registered in his mind. He has not yet realized that James had been right after all, at least in part. Sirius Black is not in love with Vivian, but –

He is, perhaps, on his way.


	22. Ecce quomodo moritur

**Chapter Twenty Two | Ecce quomodo moritur **

**[Behold the way of death]**

Vivian is in the process of leafing through Mansfield Park for the hundredth time when Sirius's latest love poem makes an appearance. She has one ear turned towards Narcissa, who is talking about her summer wedding plans and the latest drama involving her parents and Lucius's mother. Mrs. Malfoy, apparently, has the most archaic ideas about marriages.

"She's even been calling the reception a 'marriage feast!'" Narcissa informs them, sounding both incredulous as well as scandalized, which is quite out of ordinary considering how composed she always is.

Morrigan snorts loudly. "Well am _I_ invited to your marriage feast, Cissy?" she asks sarcastically. She isn't one to give up the chance to make fun of her dormmates and this is a topic that gives her plenty of ammunition.

Narcissa clearly doesn't appreciate Morrigan's usage of the nickname she's been trying to ban since first year (without luck), and haughtily sniffs, "You were _going_ to be. I might rethink the guest list if you keep calling me that, though."

Vivian rolls her eyes and turns a page of her book. Fanny Price is currently reciting some of her latest writing while Edmund listens raptly from her desk. These particular scenes are some of Vivian's favorite in this novel. That Edmund pays such close attention and encourages Fanny to continuously engage in her talents is something Vivian loves about him as a character. Of course, he's a bit of an idiot for thinking that he's in love with Mary Crawford, but he redeems himself by the end of the book. Personally, the whole arc with Mary makes Vivian wrinkle her nose a bit, but she supposes that sometimes it's necessary to bring in some foul characters in order to further the plot –

"I can't imagine Lucius as a husband. Or a father," Rosalind says with a shiver. She throws down her hairbrush and turns to face the rest of them, looking a bit nauseous. "Just think about the arrogant little brats he'll produce. Merlin, I'll bet they'll be absolutely horrid."

Narcissa glowers over and bites, "You're talking about _my_ children too, Rosalind. And can we not talk about that right now? I'm not ready to be a mother. I'm only seventeen."

All four of them make faces at the thought (of having children _and_ of Narcissa being a mother), and pause for a moment as they battle against the wave of disgust. Said wave lasts only as long as Morrigan's silence, however, which she is quick to break when she says, "I'm sure Lucius will want to have a kid as soon as possible to 'secure the family fortune' or some such bullshit."

Narcissa, who is already a bit pale, grows one shade paler at this.

Rosalind just shrugs. "Use a contraceptive spell. It's not like Lucius has to know."

Morrigan nods musingly. "Yeah. Or have a kid and then use one of those spells that permanently makes it so that you can never have children again. No household of snotty children, no wasting money on Christmas presents, no extravagant birthday parties – problem solved."

This time, everyone turns to look at Morrigan. Narcissa looks a bit ill at the thought of having a household of children. Vivian looks unsurprised at Morrigan's brash advice. Rosalind looks curious.

"I didn't know there was a spell like that," she says.

Morrigan nods, "You have to go to St. Mungo's to have it performed because it isn't widely taught."

Vivian scoffs, "Sounds like a bad idea to me." Her friends glance at her and she shrugs, "There're a lot of ways a spell like that could go wrong is all. It sounds like this curse I read about that lets you breathe underwater, but the catch is that you can never breathe oxygen again – "

"You'd know all about curses, wouldn't you?" Morrigan snidely wonders, and glances down at the cover of the book Vivian is reading.

'_A Dictionary of Curses, Vol. 1'_

Vivian rolls her eyes. She had momentarily forgotten that she'd charmed her Austen collection in such a way, but Morrigan is always quick to remind her whenever she sees her reading one of her so-called 'dictionaries'. She always likes to poke fun at her and say that she's trying too hard to be an _evil Slytherin_.

"Anyway, how do you know about that spell, Morrigan? Research for your slutty extracurricular activities?" Vivian sarcastically wonders, not above getting some payback for her dormmate's snide commentary.

Morrigan snorts at her and responds, "Oh piss off. You're feeding into the double standards that form the cornerstone of our misogynistic society, Blair."

Vivian raises an eyebrow. "How?"

"When men fool around on the side, other members of the stupider sex celebrate it; but when women fool around, they're automatically seen as sluts. Have you ever noticed that there are more insults tailored to women than there are to men? Like whore or slag or bint – "

"Okay, you have a point, but I call Black a whore and a slut all the time."

"Sirius Black _is_ a whore," Morrigan agrees. "In fact, he's the perfect example of a man who fools around and is congratulated for it, while his short-lived flames always get shamed for weeks afterwards."

Quite suddenly, Morrigan and Vivian are no longer arguing. Vivian nods and sits up, eagerly adding, "True. Just the other day, I caught him leaving a broom closet with some Hufflepuff girl, and – "

"He caused a huge scene outside the Potions class when she assumed that they were going steady? Yeah, I saw that," Morrigan cuts in.

Vivian shakes her head in disgust. "And his friends all patted him on the back for ensuring that his 'freedom' stays intact, because apparently it's _so terrible_ to only date one person."

"Yeah, and when a _girl_ decides to live on the wild side and tell monogamy to fuck off, every guy thinks she's a trollop, even the ones who are just as loose!"

On the other side of the room, Narcissa and Rosalind look at each other and raise their eyebrows.

"Okay I see your point, Morrigan. Black is a slut."

"Yeah, he – wait no, we're talking about the double standards between men and women. What's your deal with Black, anyway, Vivian?" Morrigan demands, and promptly recenters herself.

Vivian pauses, not expecting the sudden question or the calling out, and just splutters, "I – well, it's…he's – "

And that's about the time that a piece of parchment wriggles its way under the door and darts right towards her. Vivian lifts her eyes just in time before the thing unfolds and slaps itself into her face, effectively cutting off her splutters and distracting everyone from the person they are currently talking about. The irony of this will not be lost to her, when she discovers that the love poem she's now peeling forcefully off her face is actually from said person. But – none of her dormmates know that now, and the moment they see her get attacked by the letter, they all freak out.

"Is that another love poem?" Rosalind asks shrilly. She abandons her ritualistic nightly skin care routine to ogle the parchment as if it is worth a fortune.

Morrigan just crosses her arms and mutters, "Love poems…Merlin, I still can't believe this."

Narcissa leans back and watches as Vivian reads the letter, studying her eyes and the almost eager way she devours the words. She's not sure she's ever seen Vivian eager about _anything_ before. Well, except perhaps beating people at Quidditch or insulting Sirius Black. The irony of _that_ will not be lost to any of them either.

"Read it out loud so we can all hear it," Rosalind loudly complains.

"Not everyone _wants_ to hear it," Morrigan drawls at her.

"Oh stop pretending that you aren't interested," Rosalind says, and leans forward to sit on the very edge of her seat. She stares at the letter like a hawk might stare at its prey as it circles far above, its bird's eye vision a little too precise for said prey's liking. Vivian shoots her a dirty look from the corner of her eye and turns around so that Rosalind is no longer in her line of sight.

_Vivian – _

The V is slashed again, and she is beginning to see a pattern here. Why her name is always at the start, she does not know, but something deep inside her finds the addition to be quietly romantic in a way that she can't quite describe, as if the letters of her name hold a certain sacredness; consecrated and made holy.

Vivian. Vivian.

There is a loveliness to the way it is written. It's coarse but smooth, like a tumbling sandstorm in an isolated desert. The granules are rough at first, but the more the wind beats, the more the grains erode together, and when the storm is over and you walk across the dunes, it feels like you are walking on a cloud.

Vivian. _Vivian._

'_I've never held a shooting star,_

_For stars can't be contained._

_Nor have I cupped within my hand_

_A drop of crystal rain._

_The pole star in the southern fields_

_Has never caught my eye;_

_As for the northern lights,_

_They might as well be myths and lies._

_Some might think that it's a shame_

_To have never seen such light,_

_But I could live my whole life through_

_And never crave the sight._

_For even if I've seen the splendor_

_That I've just described,_

_Not even that could match the light_

_That's captured in your eyes.'_

Her heart thuds. It's strange. Is this what authors mean when they describe a heart skipping a beat? It feels, suddenly, that her own hearts has skipped several.

It's – because she likes writing, of course. She likes poetry. It's not because she's likes being viewed in this sort of way by some unknown person, of course. That would be ridiculous. Besides, she'd never hear the end of it if anyone found out that she was actually swayed by these letters – _if_ she was swayed by them, which she's most definitely _not_. Because…that would be ridiculous.

…Wouldn't it?

She's turning this question over in her mind (for purely academic purposes, of course), when someone reaches over her shoulder to pluck the letter out of her hands. Vivian is too distracted by her own internal monologue to realize it before it's too late, and Narcissa is already stepping back with a wicked grin on her normally stoic face and retreating to her bed as she reads the poem.

Rosalind is quick to throw herself onto Narcissa's bed as well, nearly face-planting herself against Narcissa's shoulder as she eagerly reads the letter. Morrigan is the only one who doesn't seem overly interested, but they all know that she's just putting on a show just for the hell of it. Her eyes are gleaming a little too much as she watches Narcissa's reaction, and it gives her away pretty quickly. She might not care as much about the poem itself, but she does love being able to tease Vivian as much as possible, and this is a topic that has given her plenty of ammunition in that regard.

Vivian sighs and returns to her own bed, picking up her book but not reading it. Edmund's reaction to Fanny's writing will just have to wait. Vivian is a bit too engrossed in studying Narcissa and Rosalind's reaction to concentrate on things like that.

"You're so lucky, Vivian!" Rosalind wails, sounding both childishly gleeful as well as completely annoying. If Vivian had a knut for every time her dormmate has said those words since this whole thing started, she could open up her own vault at Gringotts.

Narcissa's reaction is a little more composed. She folds the letter and hands it back to Vivian, but Morrigan leans in at the last moment to snatch it before it can be returned. As Morrigan hungrily opens it and stops pretending that she doesn't care about its contents, Narcissa eyes Vivian and drawls, "I honestly don't know if I'm disgusted or excited."

Rosalind snorts in amusement upon hearing this very dry statement. Morrigan doesn't hear her because she's too busy scouring the letter. Vivian…well, she doesn't say it, but she feels as though Narcissa has basically just described what she herself is feeling. A part of her is annoyed that someone would have the gall to send her these letters. Another part of her, though, feels _quite_ differently.

Who writes someone love poems these days? Is she lucky, or not? Is this really a prank, or are these letters earnest? And why does she feel this strange sense of pleasure to have received so many of these poems already?

Is it normal, to want to both hex _and_ treasure them?

…Is she turning into one of those repulsive females that she has always loathed?

"Wow," Morrigan says, and tosses the letter back to Vivian before running a hand through her hair. Vivian rolls her eyes at her and grabs the parchment from where it had landed on the end of her mattress.

"Wow what?" she snarks, feeling oddly self-conscious.

Morrigan shrugs. "It's just…this is pretty insane. I mean, Narcissa's right. I sort of want to vomit in disgust, but at the same time, I'm weirdly excited."

Rosalind seems to be in agreement with this apparently universal sentiment as well, for she promptly nods. She falls onto her bed with a loud sigh and dramatically bemoans, "Too bad we don't know who it is. Then I'd be able to decide between disgust or excitement." She pauses for a moment and then suddenly snickers, "What if it's Snape?"

And just like that, the entire room rebels. Morrigan throws her pillow at her. Narcissa shoots her a stricken glower. Vivian snaps, "That's vile!"

Rosalind, looking a bit ruffled at their reactions, complains, "It _could_ be him! He knows where your dorm is since he's in our house, and he's always reading. Maybe he actually reads romance novels and he got the idea to write love poems from one of them."

"Merlin Rosalind, shut up," Morrigan gripes.

"That's really nasty," Narcissa agrees.

Vivian doesn't deign to respond at all, and just shoves the love poem into her nightstand drawer with a grumble. She really hopes Rosalind isn't right, because that would completely destroy the excitement she _may or may not_ be feeling about this whole thing.

"Rosalind does make one good point, though," Narcissa says after a moment, stressing the word 'one' and shooting her dormmate a firm glance when she opens her mouth to argue about said points. "Now we know how the _first_ poem got in here. Whoever is writing these poems must be pretty adept at magic if they can charm a letter to travel to you without being present themselves."

At this, Vivian pauses. Narcissa is actually being pretty logical about that, come to think of it. It isn't necessarily difficult to charm an object like that, as long as you have a recipient in mind whilst casting the spell, but not everyone is able to perform an enchantment like that. It takes a certain amount of skill and concentration to be able to pull that off, which…well, it narrows down the playing field at least a little bit. Whoever this little shit is, it's clear that they aren't stupid. This person obviously knows their way around magic, which eliminates at least _some_ of her seventh year class and probably a good portion of the sixth years. (She refuses to think that the little shit is someone younger than that because – gross.)

On top of that, Narcissa's logic has given Vivian a rather sudden but genius idea: what if there is a spell that can reverse track the letter? Or, if there isn't such a spell in existence, perhaps she can create her own.

The thought makes her jerk her head up and stare sightlessly at the opposing wall, which in turn makes all her dormmates stare at _her_. She receives varying expressions of confusion and bemusement, but Vivian hardly notices until Morrigan wonders, "What the fuck are you doing, Blair?"

Vivian breaks out of her stupor for long enough to snap, "I'm thinking."

Rosalind snorts, "Well don't hurt yourself."

Narcissa, who is apparently in one of her 'Rosalind-isn't-that-bad' stages, laughs in amusement at the snarky comment.

Vivian rolls her eyes and grouses, "Oh shut up. I'm going to the common room."

Morrigan raises an eyebrow. "But you're already in your pajamas."

"Who cares? I have to figure something out and I can't do it when I'm around any of _you_. You're all so fucking annoying," Vivian pointedly informs them, and then grabs her robe and a roll of parchment before heading for the door.

"We love you too, Blair!" Rosalind calls. The only response she gets is the door slamming shut as Vivian prowls out of the room. Rosalind sighs, "Merlin, what's wrong with her tonight? D'you think she's upset that it might be Snape?"

Morrigan just glowers.

"Shut up about Snape. You're making me want to actually vomit this time."

Rosalind falls quiet. For a few seconds, at least. And then…

"I don't know. Maybe they would make a half decent pair. What do you think, Narcissa?"

"I think that if you don't be quiet, Morrigan and I will throw you out and lock the door."

"…Wow. That's kind of rude of you."

Narcissa just rolls her eyes.

* * *

"_Reveles, invenio, expiscor…? _What are you up to, Blair?"

"Quiet, Reg. I'm trying to concentrate," Vivian responds, though there isn't any bite to her tone. As such, Regulus doesn't listen. She's not sure if he would anyway, of course. Regulus Black definitely has a stubborn streak. It must be a family trait.

He leans over the back of the chair she's sitting on and raises an eyebrow, reading through the contents of the parchment she's got in her lap. Apparently, he's a little too close for comfort, because Vivian throws a glower at him and shifts in the chair, fixing her robe with overly discerning eyes. The sight makes Regulus snort out a laugh and drawl, "If you're embarrassed about being in your pajamas in front of me, you probably shouldn't have come down to the common room at all."

Vivian just sticks her nose into the air and sniffs, "I'm not embarrassed."

He bites back an amused smile and shrugs, deciding to abandon the subject of her potential embarrassment in favor of a more scintillating conversation. Dropping himself into the chair opposite her, he wonders, "What are you working on, then? Maybe I can help."

For some reason, Vivian doesn't look overly enthusiastic about his offer. He raises an eyebrow at her hesitant expression, but his confusion doesn't last very long. When Vivian eyes him and slowly mutters, "I got another letter," he realizes why she's so hesitant to begin with.

Some part of him, deep and internal, feels the gentlest burst of pain upon hearing this. It isn't because she received a letter, but rather because she is so uncertain about informing him of it. It's not as if he has any right to her business, but it seems as though he had overstepped himself the other day, when he had confronted Sirius about the poems. Perhaps she is uncomfortable towards him now. Perhaps his concern had made her wary. _That_ is why he feels that soft pang of hurt. He doesn't want her to feel that way around him.

Keeping his face blank of any judgement, Regulus nods. "I see…" He trails off in an almost awkward manner, as if he doesn't quite know what to say to her. He hadn't been expecting this declaration, after all.

Vivian, as usual, knows exactly what to say. She hasn't stopped eyeing him since informing him of the latest development, and she doesn't stop now either, when she adamantly declares, "It's _not_ your brother."

Regulus blinks at her, not expecting that, either.

"…I may have been a little hasty with that," he admits, though it seems to take some effort on his part to concede this point. Boys.

Vivian sighs at him. "I've thought about it, but there's just no way that he's the one sending me these. They're way too affectionate. He'd never be able to write something like that about me, not in a million years."

Regulus isn't sure that he's convinced, but then again, he isn't sure about many things these days. Vivian doesn't know Sirius like he does, after all. She doesn't know just how far he'll go for a laugh. Well – in a way, she does, but this is different. It's on a whole other level. And he'll admit that he was, perhaps, too hasty in suspecting that his brother has anything to do with this, but there's just some part of him that is convinced that Sirius has some part to play, in some way or another, in this scheme.

But – what if he doesn't? What if these letters really are from someone else; someone who actually feels this way for Vivian? Regulus doesn't know what would be worse: watching his brother string her along just for a prank, or watching someone else serenade her with sickeningly sweet and very earnest prose. He doesn't like it either way, but he figures that he should probably back off a bit. Vivian can take care of herself. She doesn't need anyone looking after her as if she were a child.

She's – strong, in ways he isn't.

"Okay," is all he says, and then nods to her parchment. "So you're trying to find out who this person is, then?"

Vivian looks somewhat surprised that he had discerned this without any explanation on her part, but then again, Regulus has always been observant and intelligent. She supposes she shouldn't be surprised that he's hit the mark so easily.

He quips a barely-there smile at her and shrugs. _"Reveles: _to discover. _Invenio:_ to find. _Expiscor:_ to search out. I know my Latin, Blair."

Vivian, somewhat impressed, raises her eyebrows and mutters, "…I guess you do." They stare at each other for a long moment before she purses her lips to hide a smile and explains, "I thought I might be able to figure out the identity of my 'secret admirer' by making up a spell that could trace the letter back to them. So far it isn't working out, though."

Regulus leans forward and asks, "Why not?"

She shrugs, "It's a dead end. There's hardly a trace on the letter. There needs to be more magical residue to pull it off."

Regulus nods thoughtfully, brows furrowed over his grey eyes. In this lighting, with the soft greenish glow from the fire casting murky shadows through the room, his gaze is almost emerald. It is a dark, mysterious green – like the depths of an obscure forest after a rainstorm, when the air hangs heavy with petrichor and the mossy carpet seems to extend so far that it seems never-ending. It is intermingled with the hint of dappled iron as it blends in with the dimness of the expansive brown trees. Amber and mahogany; too many shades to count.

"What if you alter the spell somehow?" he muses, resting his chin in his palm. He stares off into space, sightlessly turning thought into word, grey-green gaze flickering with contemplative consideration. "Maybe there's a way to trace the letter after all; just not in terms of tracking it to an actual location."

Vivian pauses at this, turning to catch his eye with a look of subdued confusion. Of course, her Slytherin mind understands what he's saying. Knowledge is power. It doesn't matter what sort of knowledge it is. Perhaps she would learn something useful about this mystery person that might narrow down the playing field. The only problem is that she wouldn't know where to begin. It could take her weeks to find the right Latin words that might create such a spell, and weeks more to put it all together in a way that actually works. She's authored enough experimental charms by now to know that they aren't easy to create. Magic is a temperamental thing; impossible to fully fathom. There will always be some impenetrable facet of it that baffles the mind; some secret side that you hadn't known existed, which has the potential to change everything.

Still, though…

"…So find out what? Characteristics? I don't know how that will help me," Vivian grumbles. She's a little bit impatient, to be honest. She'd much rather take the direct route and figure out the answer to this mystery as quickly and painlessly as possible. Regulus suggestion might be worth hearing, but she can't imagine that it will give her much information.

He shrugs. "It's worth a try, at least until you receive a letter with more of a trace on it. Then you might be able to find a location on your mystery admirer." His lip curls up just so when he says those last words, but it isn't noticeable enough to remark upon. Regulus Black has always been hard to read, and that will never change.

He covets his emotional tells like they are beyond worth. Perhaps they are. After all, when you know what someone is feeling, it is so simple to manipulate and control them. A mere word – a single glance – and they fall to your whims, if you know what you're doing.

Vivian hums thoughtfully and sighs, "I guess. I don't have any others ideas right now, so I might as well see if it works. Any ideas?"

Regulus sends her that barely-there smile, which Vivian returns. He reaches forward to grab the book of Latin she's got laying on the table in front of her and begins to leaf through it, and Vivian turns her parchment towards him to show him the words she's already considered. Together they sit and discuss experimental spells and consider what sort of information they might ascertain, hammering out several potential spells that may work, but…

It doesn't last.

They must have been sitting in the common room for a good hour when they are interrupted. Regulus is in the middle of writing down one of their recent ideas and joking about how well they work together. His barely-there smirk has grown steadily the more time has passed, until it could _almost_ count as an actual smile, and Vivian is thinking that she had been a bit too hasty herself, when she had wondered if she should trust him. He's been very helpful tonight, and he does have a good point: they really do work well together. It makes her wonder what else they could accomplish, if they teamed up. It's a shame, though, that they don't have more time to figure it all out before the common room door opens and Lucius Malfoy walks in, followed by his friends. When they see Regulus, they make a beeline towards him, much to Vivian's dismay.

Regulus doesn't look very unhappy about it, though he does cast a quick, careful glance at Vivian as they approach. He gives her a somewhat strained, awkward expression, as if he isn't sure how to act around her when his friends are nearby (boys – honestly), and leans back to greet them as they amble over.

"What're you two doing over here?" Mulciber drawls, dropping himself down onto the couch and leaning over to sneak a look at the parchment. Too curious for his own good, that one. Vivian makes sure to make it known to him when she drags it into her lap with a glowering look, but Mulciber doesn't seem overly concerned with the possibility of getting on her bad side. He just stretches his arms behind his head and sends her an arrogant smirk.

"Top secret, then?" he snidely wonders, and turns his eyes to Regulus, who seems to realize how close he is to Vivian and shifts over a bit, looking faintly awkward in an imperceptible way that only Regulus can pull off.

He quickly sinks into a more relaxed position, appearing for all the world that whatever awkwardness he had felt a moment ago is now completely vanished, and remarks, "We were just working on an assignment, that's all. Where have you lot been, then?"

Whatever 'assignment' they've been so focused on seems to be forgotten upon Regulus's question, which is probably what he had intended all along. Vivian's never known anyone who can manipulate a situation quite like he can. If she isn't so uncomfortable to suddenly find herself in the middle of whatever this is, she'd be impressed. As it is, though…well, uncomfortable is an understatement.

"Just messing with a group of Hufflepuffs," Lucius smirks, looking quite pleased to relay this information to their younger comrade. He crosses his arms and meets Regulus's eyes with a smug expression, as if hexing a group of students is a normal thing to do. Once again, Regulus looks slightly awkward to be around his friends when Vivian is nearby, and shoots a quick glance at her as if he's trying to guess at her feelings regarding Lucius's crass comment.

It doesn't take much effort, though after the obvious sign of Vivian's disgust, she's able to wrangle her expression into a proper Slytherin mask, and rearranges her features into cool disregard. The initial flicker of repulsion hadn't been apparent enough to draw the others' notice. Regulus is the only one who sees, because –

Well, maybe it's because he sees Vivian for who she really is, far beyond the mask that she sometimes wears to protect herself from the rest of the world. Or, perhaps, Regulus Black merely sees who he _thinks_ she is: a conundrum, a mystery just waiting to be revealed, tantalizingly hidden just so by layers too numerous to measure. It's not that Vivian Blair is that complicated, really, but…well, she's human, and the human race is a perplexing one.

Regulus is grateful that he doesn't have a chance to respond to Lucius. Evan Rosier speaks up before he can.

"Group of halfies and mudbloods," he explains to Regulus. "They were looking for trouble. Started a fight."

Rosier has always been one of the quiet ones. He doesn't usually have much to say, but when he does, his words are blunt and unforgiving, and a true reflection of his character: dark and foreboding. Also, a liar. Vivian highly doubts that a group of Hufflepuffs started a fight with the most notorious students in school. Everybody knows to steer clear of this lot, especially if you have 'questionable' blood, and Hufflepuffs aren't exactly known for their courage. It's obvious that Rosier is playing the innocent card even though it's clear to everyone that he's exaggerating. Maybe he's looking for some laughs. After all, bullying other students is apparently what they do for fun.

"Ah…is that so?" Regulus wonders. He doesn't sound impressed, but he doesn't sound judgmental, either. He seems to have decided to maintain some sort of grey middle ground with Vivian here, not veering too far to one side or the other.

Mulciber snorts. "There're too many of them in this school, thinking they're better than everyone else, that they have the _right_ to be here. Blood doesn't matter at all these days."

Lucius drawls, "Blood matters _now_ more than it ever has, Mulciber. After we graduate, we'll be able to take a stand against those who would _taint_ it." His lip curls, and he shoots a glance over at Vivian, as if just now recalling that she is there at all. He raises an eyebrow at her state of dress and drags his eyes over her figure in a shameless perusal of her form. He doesn't try to be subtle about it.

Vivian jerks her robe tighter around her and snaps, "Stop ogling me, Malfoy. Aren't you _engaged?"_

The reminder only makes him scoff out a laugh. The other boys seem to think her words are just as amusing – except one. Regulus merely shrugs off his black and emerald robe and offers it to her. There's something flickering in his eyes that looks deadly, but she doesn't know what it is or why it's there. All she knows is that it seems to get worse when Mulciber smirks, "Marriage doesn't mean fidelity, Blair. You should probably know that before we tie the knot."

Vivian shoots him a cold look and opens her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Regulus quickly cuts in and says, "You'll be taking a stand then? You're planning on joining the Dark Lord?"

He glances at Vivian with an unreadable look in his eyes, but apparently they've grown close enough by now for her to see it for what it is: a warning. She doesn't much like that he's basically telling her to keep her silence, but given the current circumstances, she agrees that perhaps he's right. Instead of arguing with him or snapping at Mulciber, Vivian merely draws Regulus's robes around her and brushes a strand of her chocolate brown hair from her eyes. There is a slight oaken scent coming from the robe that has citrusy undertones to it, and the drape of the fabric gives her some semblance of comfort as she pulls it tight around her form.

Lucius raises an eyebrow at Regulus. "We've already spoken about this several times, Black. I know you want in, but you'll have to wait until seventh year the latest. The Dark Lord doesn't have any need of you right now."

At this, Vivian stiffens a little, and glances over at Regulus, whose expression truly _is_ unreadable this time. Not even she can broach the stormy recesses of his gaze. The emerald has long since vanished. Iron now takes full control, and she will have no hope of breeching the impenetrable defenses that it provides.

Regulus scoffs and waves a hand. "Once you all graduate, he'll need someone on the inside here at Hogwarts."

Mulciber drawls, "Well we haven't graduated _yet,_ have we?"

The conversation is so startling and unexpected that Vivian quite thoughtlessly blurts out, "Are you all Death Eaters already?"

The moment she voices the question, she snaps her mouth shut. Immediate regret washes over her, so powerful that she has the strongest desire to just sink into the cushions beneath her and vanish entirely. The entire group turns to look at her with varying expressions of surprise, annoyance, and curiosity, as if they've forgotten once again that she's even there at all. She wishes they would forget once more – and soon.

She can feel Regulus's warning eyes on her again, but she doesn't turn to look at the heavy iron of them. She's a little too distracted by the way Mulciber smirks widely at her and throws himself onto the couch beside her, promptly wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leering at her with darkly amused eyes.

Then, he holds out his left arm.

"D'you wanna look, Blair?" he murmurs, much to the entertainment of his friends, who nudge each other and snicker at the display. Regulus is the only one who doesn't have any outward reaction at all. As for Vivian…

She has never felt such frozen, poignant unease before. Pressed into Mulciber as she is, she can't even move, let alone raise her eyes to look into his. His muscled form is like a leaden weight against her. She feels as if she has been caught in a cage, metal spikes delving through the bars, their tips so close to her heart that if she moves even an inch, she will be skewered by them. So she doesn't move, at first. No, at first, she doesn't do anything at all.

Oh, it is a strange thing, courage. Sometimes it is so faint that the press of it is like the flap of butterfly wings high above you, ethereal and barely there; while at other times, you feel it so greatly that you are possessed by its passage through you, and it comes to you with an icy wakefulness and electrifies the parts of you that were, before, in shadow only. Vivian does not know which of the two she is experiencing, for she cannot take notice of anything besides the numb quality of anxiousness that pervades her mind. She feels as though her head is spinning, and every second that passes seems to take a thousand years to turn itself over.

On Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Austen once wrote, "There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

Vivian cannot necessarily claim that her courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate _her,_ for she does not think she is all that courageous, or strong, or valiant, and she feels that she would much prefer to sink into the shadows rather than come forward to make a stand, but even so, she does feel _some_ semblance of courage in this moment, whether it be made up of butterfly wings or electricity.

This is a courage bred entirely from self-preservation. It is conservation at its finest – a need for sovereignty over her own fate. A pressing, self-serving desire to know, without the hint of a doubt, of what she is truly dealing with. Maybe it is a Slytherin tactic, this need to stay two steps ahead, or maybe it is merely due to the simple fact that Vivian Blair knows well enough that her future will not be a fairy tale. It will not be made up of roses and sunshine, but rather of thorns and moonlight. She will not be the damsel who waits in a gilded tower for a hero to save her, for her world does not have such things. No, her world has only cages and villains. And, the villain sitting directly beside her, who seems to have already claimed her for his own despite her own reluctance, happens to be two steps ahead of _her._

She will change that, tonight.

Vivian reaches forward to grasp Mulciber's wrist, and twists her fingers beneath his sleeve. The look he sends her as she silently rolls the fabric up his forearm is amused, as if he can feel her hesitance and her fear, even though she forces her fingers not to shake and her breath not to stutter. She shows no outward sign of weakness, but it hardly matters. Mulciber, though blunt and arrogant, is no fool.

Regulus, though, is beginning to wonder if _he_ is.

Before Vivian can shift the fabric of Mulciber's sleeve more than several inches up his arm, Regulus reaches out to grab her hand and forcefully pull it away. In fact, he does far more than just that: he stands up and drags her along with him, then reaches down to grab her roll of parchment and thrusts it with an almost angry intent into her arms. She barely manages to catch it before it falls, clumsy and heavy-handed as her fingers curl around the edges of it.

"It's after curfew. You should be getting to bed," Regulus intones. He feels as though there is a clashing in his ears. His heart is beating too loudly and his blood is rushing through him too quickly. He knows that Vivian's expression gives away her frustration towards him, but he can't find it in himself to care. She is treading a dangerous path – too dangerous for her to know, in this moment. He does not want her to venture any further.

Mulciber snorts, his arm dropping to his side. His eyes flash over Vivian's head to lock with Regulus's iron gaze, and he snidely purrs, "I thought _I _was the one in charge of Vivian's bedtime, Black. Are you throwing down a gauntlet or something?"

Under normal circumstances, Vivian would be none too happy with Mulciber for that comment, but these are not normal circumstances. Her head is reeling, and she's having trouble forming a coherent thought. The others – Lucius, Rosier, Avery, and Snape – watch the proceedings as if it is the single most entertaining thing they have ever witnessed.

Regulus pushes his shoulders back and makes a show of rolling his eyes – a childish action he does not often make. Vivian isn't so far gone as to not realize what it is that he's doing. He's trying to prove, silently and without words, that he is not Mulciber's enemy. That he is not someone to be wary of, or to distrust, or to target. He is not a contender; not an adversary.

"I just don't think that Blair needs to be a part of this conversation. This is between us, right?" Regulus wonders in a lighter tone, ignoring the way Vivian narrows her eyes at him. He doesn't so much as look at her. His gaze is trained at Mulciber, waiting for the tension to blow over.

Mulciber doesn't seem to be in a fighting mood tonight, otherwise he might have called Regulus out on what it is that he's doing. Perhaps the fight they had gotten into with those Hufflepuffs has taken away some of his ever-present frustration, for after a tense moment, he just shrugs and says, "I guess you're right. Blair has no place in this. Not yet, anyway."

He leers at Vivian one last time, but she doesn't turn to look at him. She is rooted to the spot, one arm caught by Regulus as he curls his hand around it, overwhelmed by wood-and-citrus as the foreign robes she is wearing engulf her figure, her head still reeling from what it is that she had seen.

Regulus doesn't wait a minute longer. The second Mulciber turns to throw an amused glance at Lucius, he pulls Vivian out of the common room and into the short hallway that leads to the stairs of the girl's dormitories. He can't venture down the steps, but he does open the door for her and nearly shoves her inside, pushing her out of the room with an almost feverish frenzy. It's clear enough that he wants her to leave, and Vivian feels that she knows him well enough to realize that some part of him is only protecting her, but…

"So you're going to join him, then? The Dark Lord?" she demands, her voice little more than a hiss of sound lest it carries unwittingly back into the common room. Now that she is no longer caught beneath Mulciber's stormy gaze, the courage she had doubted herself to possess seems to rise up within her all the more potently.

Regulus's eyes flash at her. He tightens his grasp of her arm, and swallows tightly. As before, he looks distinctly uncomfortable all of the sudden. The cool, indifferent mask he had worn in front of his friends drops just a little, and Vivian can detect the slightest hint of desperation as it blazes through his eyes. She cannot tell if it is because he doesn't want to disappoint her by saying yes, or if it because of some other reason. She doesn't dare to hope that Regulus doesn't want to join the Dark Lord after all; that his hand is being forced by his parents or by his social circles, just as her own hand is being forced into a marriage she does not desire. She doesn't know him well enough to make such an assumption, and she doesn't want her judgement clouded by misplaced optimism.

Regulus is hesitating for too long, so Vivian impatiently whispers, "You _can't,_ Regulus. He'll drag you down a path that you'll never recover from. Never."

Finally, her words seem to break him free from whatever desperate thoughts he had been struggling with moments before. Quite suddenly, his eyes are iron again, and she feels a strange sense of heartache to know that he is shutting her out.

"I agree with him. His methods are a little severe, but in order to change the world, sometime they have to be," Regulus says lowly. His voice, too, is full of iron.

Vivian shakes her head, but he doesn't let her say another word.

"Don't start a fight with Mulciber, Vivian. It isn't worth it," he tells her, and releases her arm.

Her eyes blaze, but wildfire isn't enough to melt iron, and not even her next words have any hope of bending Regulus's strong will.

"I deserve to know what he really is. I deserve to know what _you_ really are."

Regulus shakes his head at her.

"I'm only looking to protect you. That's all. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into by riling Mulciber up like that. You don't know what he's capable of."

"Then _tell_ me," she whispers. Perhaps it is even a plea.

Regulus is, again, unbent. He sighs at her and takes a step back, glancing over his shoulder at the entrance of the common room. Then he turns back towards her, but he doesn't meet her eyes. He only shakes his head again and murmurs, "I can't tell you, Vivian. Trust me when I say that you don't really want to know."

And without another word, he leaves her there to rejoin his friends, darting around the corner and back into the common room without another look. And Vivian stares even after his figure has disappeared and she can hear the faint sound of his voice speaking to the others, and it takes her some moments to remember her courage and to move. She turns slowly, still reeling, and shuts the door. Then she sinks down onto the steps that lead down into the girl's dormitories, and the oddest thing happens to her: Sirius's voice whispers through her head.

"_He's not a Death Eater yet. It's only a matter of time."_

Why she thinks of Sirius in this moment, she doesn't know. Maybe it's because she's once again struck by just how different he is from his brother. Maybe it's still a great shock to her even after all these years, and the gap between them is just too wide for her to understand. Maybe it's because she knows without a doubt, even though she doesn't know him all that well when it comes down to it, that Sirius would be utterly disgusted at the direction his younger brother is going in. Maybe it's because Vivian thinks that Sirius is, for the first time, correct.

Even though the brothers hardly ever talk to each other, Sirius knows exactly what type of person Regulus is. His innate understanding of his character is something that not even Vivian possesses. He had known all along that Regulus would one day join the Dark Lord, and Vivian had scoffed at him for even suggesting it when he had in fact been right after all.

It is just a matter of time.

She leans against the wall of the stairwell and wraps herself into the robe that does not belong to her. How could someone as quietly kind as Regulus turn to the darkness in such a way? It's true that she doesn't know him that well, but she thinks she knows enough of his character to see past the defenses he always sets in place. She knows that he isn't evil to the core – not like his friends are. She knows that he has some good in him, despite how he tries to deny it or hide it away. He wouldn't have given her his robe if he wasn't good. He wouldn't have spent the last hour with her, for no reason other than to help her. And when he laughs, she swears she sees that goodness rising up within him like a tidal wave, silent but no less potent.

No, she refuses to believe that Regulus cannot be saved, and therein lies yet another conundrum, for before this moment, she hadn't thought that venturing down this path would make a person unsavable. She hadn't thought that this road would lead to destruction, but suddenly…she isn't sure that she wants to be a part of it, even if that part is to merely be the wife of a Death Eater and to live forever on the sidelines. For, even though Regulus had pulled her away before she could roll up Mulciber's sleeve completely, he did not act fast enough. She had seen the beginnings of something dark and inky curling around his wrist, and she knows what that means.

If she does marry him, then her fate is this:

To be a Death Eater's wife. To play hostess to the evil crowd. The disappear into the timid shell of her own fear, and forget herself entirely.

And – Merlin, why she does it, she has no idea. The work her and Regulus had done before his friends had descended upon them shouldn't even factor into her thoughts right now, but she just needs to know. She needs to figure out if this person really is being genuine by sending her these letters, or if it's just some great joke. So, even though she's shivering into the stone wall of the stairs, shaking from the cold and the apprehension and yes – _the fear_ – Vivian reaches for her wand and whispers all of the experimental spells that her and Regulus had written down.

_Inveninem_

_Reperquim_

_Circumvirio_

_Proprium Litterae_

But the magic doesn't come. She's left in the darkness without a spark, drowning in the scent of oak-and-orange, shivering against every tempestuous emotion that has ever existed.

The answer is lost to her.

* * *

" – So McGonagall called Evans and me up to talk to her after class, remember? Well gentlemen, let me tell you how incredible my life is about to become – " James is saying as the Marauders walk through the second floor corridor. They're on their way to the Gryffindor common rooms to collect their textbooks for their next class, which they will be splitting up for. Remus will be heading off to Care of Magical Creatures while the others go to Herbology, and James is trying to get his story in before Remus takes his leave. He's speaking, of course, about their morning Transfiguration class, and he is so excited that he's talking a little too fast for human comprehension.

" – Setting up Christmas decorations in the Great Hall and around the castle and I'm thinking that we'll need to nick some mistletoe from Sprout because this is my _chance,_ I'm telling you – "

The other Marauders are quite accustomed to James occasionally rattling off about his One True Love in this manner, and don't try to interrupt him. They're well aware that any attempts at doing so while he is in his current state will be utterly dismissed, and James probably won't even hear them at all. He is always incredibly singular wherever it concerns Lily Evans.

" – Have to scope out the common room, but since Lily always sits by the window that overlooks the Great Lake, one should definitely be there. Course, she also sits near the Magical History aisle in the library so that's a good place too – "

"…What's he talking about again, Remus?" Sirius whispers. He raises his eyebrows as he shoots a glance at James, who is wildly gesticulating as he walks alongside them and doesn't seem to be at all aware of Sirius's lack of attention.

Remus shakes his head at James and mutters, "The mistletoe, Sirius. The mistletoe."

Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Merlin, he's obsessive, isn't he? If I ever get that obsessive about a girl, please slap me – oh, hold on a moment, I have to go scope out Blair's reaction to my latest letter."

Remus sends him a baffled, incredulous look, but Sirius is already sidestepping Peter, ducking under James's gesticulating arm, and loping off to where Vivian is walking some ways ahead of them. Peter turns to catch Remus's eye, but James doesn't seem to even notice that Sirius had disappeared because he's too busy trying to figure out if there's a way to place mistletoe directly above Lily's usual seat in the Great Hall, or if it would be too challenging – but fuck that, he's a Marauder and he's done crazier things, and Moony, some advice would be useful right about now.

While Remus sighs and turns to dryly inform James that Lily would probably figure out his plans because she isn't a total idiot (he doesn't say 'like you', but it's implied), Sirius falls into step beside Vivian just as she's rounding the corridor on her way to her Ancient Runes class.

"So Blair, any new theories about your secret admirer? I'm sure you've realized by now that Tosspot Clarke isn't nearly that imaginative."

He is, of course, expecting Vivian to tell him to piss off, which is why it's extremely strange when she doesn't say anything at all. But still, she's tried the silent treatment on him before, so Sirius just shrugs and continues, "Any new letters lately? I still can't believe you've got a secret admirer. D'you want me to ask around the school for you? I figure we can rule out 95% of the population. The last 5% are most likely insane and suicidal."

His snide remarks aren't giving him any reaction at all, so he frowns and turns to look at her. Vivian doesn't even seem to be aware that he's walking next to her, though. Usually, he can tell when she's trying to ignore him, because she curls her fingers as if she's resisting the urge to punch him, and her eyebrow does this twitching thing that amuses him to no end, but right now, she isn't doing anything at all. It's as if he's a ghost and she can't see or hear him.

Considering that she's never reacted to him in this way before, it's actually a little unnerving.

"…Blair? Are you alive?" he muses, ducking his head forward to peer at her. Again, she doesn't even blink. She just stares sightlessly ahead. That's when he starts to notice several things.

First, she's frowning. It's not her usual scowl, which she fires off at people left and right, but rather the slightest downturned expression, as if she's thinking very hard about something that's bothering her. Second, she doesn't seem to be aware of her surroundings at all. The fact that she hasn't bumped into anyone yet is probably due to the fact that people are used to stepping around her, not wanting to get on her bad side. Third, she isn't even ignoring him (he thinks). She genuinely doesn't seem to be aware that he's walking right next to her because she looks like she's seconds away from falling asleep.

"…I feel like this would be a great opportunity to prank you, Blair, but to be honest, I'm too weirded out to come up with anything good," he mutters, and eyes her again. And again, she doesn't so much as blink.

"This is actually creeping me out a little – woah, Godric, watch where you're going!" he exclaims, and reaches out to grab her shoulders before she can walk headlong into a clumsy third year, who darts into their path so quickly that he nearly bowls them over. The situation seems to awaken her in some way, because she finally snaps her head up, looking startled. For a brief moment, she looks confused. Then she turns her head, realizes that Sirius is holding onto her shoulders, and raises an eyebrow at him.

"…What are you doing?" she demands, though her voice isn't nearly as cutting as it usually is.

Sirius pauses, a little baffled, and splutters, "…I…don't know?"

They stare at each other for all of two seconds before Vivian rolls her eyes and knocks his hands off of her. "Well whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it."

Sirius gapes at her as she starts walking again, heaving her bookbag further up her shoulder and not even deigning to give him one of her snide comments as she departs. Honestly, he'd even settle for one of her sneers at this point.

"What were you thinking so hard about, anyway?" Sirius asks as he catches up to her, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. He doesn't think he really cares about the answer, but he is a bit curious. It isn't every day that Vivian Blair passes up the chance to mock him.

Still, despite the fact that she seems to be more aware of her surroundings now, she doesn't seem all that interested in taking part in their usual back-and-forth insult match. Instead, Vivian merely presses her mouth into a thin line and grumbles, "None of your business, Black. Piss off."

Sirius doesn't piss off. He just raises an eyebrow at her dour tone and sarcastically says, "Something is definitely off with you today, Godric. Usually you're a lot ruder."

Vivian just throws him an edged look and drawls, "Maybe I just don't have the energy to deal with your petty arguments today."

"…Do I exhaust you, then?" he wonders, sounding hopeful.

"I thought that was a given."

"It's always nice to get some feedback, is all."

"Well get your feedback somewhere else. I'm too tired for this."

It's true enough. She'd spent the whole of last night tossing and turning sleeplessly, overturning her conversation with Regulus in her head and thinking back upon the hint of the inky black tattoo on Mulciber's arm. She hardly slept at all, and it's clear enough from the shadows beneath her half-lidded eyes. She looks well and truly exhausted, to the point of Sirius actually taking notice.

He frowns at her, taking in all of these signs, and slowly says, "I'd ask what's wrong, but I guess that'd be a little weird."

Vivian snorts out her agreement and mutters, "Yeah, I'd start wondering if the world was ending."

He quips an amused smirk and shrugs. "I would, too."

She glances over at him, and he glances over at her, and Vivian thinks about last night again and wonders if she maybe…ought to…say something? Regulus is Sirius's brother, after all. Would it be wrong of her to mention Regulus's current direction, or would it be crossing a line? Would Sirius even care? It's hardly a secret that the two brothers aren't exactly close, especially after Sirius had left home back during the summer after fifth year. Since then, the two of them have had an even worse relationship, so strained that the only contact they have is in passing, brief conversations that last little more than a few minutes and usually result in insults being thrown back and forth.

And besides, even if Sirius did care, it's not like she has a right to spill this information to him. She isn't Regulus's secret keeper, and even if she did say something, what would Sirius be able to do? It's not like he would have any chance at convincing Regulus to turn towards better, more wholesome pursuits. Regulus would never listen, and she doubts that Sirius would care enough to try.

"What is going _on_ with you today, Blair?" Sirius frowns.

With a start, Vivian realizes that they've come to a halt in the center of the hallway, and that she's been staring silently at him for the duration of her inner monologue. She jerks her head up and clears her throat, then gives him a halfhearted sneer for good measure and mutters, "Merlin, I must be going crazy."

Honestly, she can't believe she had just considered telling Sirius Black that his brother is just one more Death Eater wannabe. He would probably laugh in her face and tell her that he'd told her so and then stride off, laughing at her for being so foolish and naïve.

She shakes her head at herself and turns around again, intent this time on getting to class before the bell rings. As she turns to leave, Sirius raises an eyebrow at her and starts to follow, but Vivian halts him with a single look. Her eyes flash with their usual sharpness, and for once, he takes heed of it, falling back without another word and watching her disappear around the next corridor, feeling quite baffled about it all.

He can't claim, after all, that he's ever had an experience like that with Vivian Blair. In fact, he'd even venture to say that it had been the first civilized conversation they've had in years. It's so weird that all he can do is stand there in bewilderment, completely unsure as to what had just occurred. And, for that matter, he can't help but wonder what Vivian had been thinking so hard about, before. It's all very confusing.

" – Point is, Moony, that since Lily and I are in charge of the decorations this year, we'll be in close quarters, and – "

He's got to get to the bottom of this mystery. He feels, abruptly, that there are pieces of Vivian that he hadn't known existed, and that if he's going to succeed with this prank, he needs to get to know her better.

" – I mean, come on! The chances of her realizing how great I am are definitely higher than they've ever been. Just think – "

In order to write better verses that will really make her think that someone is in love with her, he has to figure out who she really is, beneath the surface. It's obvious enough now that he's thinking about it. He just hadn't realized it before because Vivian disgusts him and he wants absolutely nothing to do with her.

" – First we're both made Head students, and now we're both in charge of the Christmas decorations. It's basically fate, see? We're destined to be together."

The other Marauders, who are now just catching up to Sirius, shake their heads at James. Sirius is too busy thinking about what he needs to do to notice, though.

" – Plus I think if I play my cards right, that mistletoe idea could really be perfect – "

What does Vivian Blair like? Smutty novels, hexing people, sneering, making up spells, insulting him…

He ought to write this shit down.

" – I was thinking about decking the _entire_ tower with the stuff, but I don't want her thinking that I'm putting myself out there, you know?"

Sirius turns to look at James, raises an eyebrow, and drawls, "Merlin, you're so obsessive, James. I swear your whole life revolves around Lily Evans. Girls aren't worth it, mate, believe me."

And finally (finally!), James shuts up. He turns to look at Sirius with a skeptical look blazing across his face and wonders, "Why're you standing over there, Sirius? Weren't you walking behind me before?"

Remus sighs. "…He went off to chase Vivian around."

James's skepticism turns a few shades dryer. Peter looks a bit ill. Remus rolls his eyes. Sirius indignantly proclaims, "I did not chase her around. I have, however, decided that I need to get some proper intel on her if I'm going to make this prank work, so I'm skiving and heading to the library. Gentlemen."

He nods stoutly and then turns on his heel to disappear down the adjacent corridor, leaving his fellow Marauders to gape at his back.

"…Library?" Peter stutters, looking even sicker.

"Proper intel?" Remus repeats.

"And he calls _me_ obsessive?" James wonders.

They all look at each other. Then Remus shakes his head and continues walking, muttering to himself about love-struck friends all the way back to the Gryffindor tower.


	23. Ad aperturam libri

**Chapter Twenty Three | Ad aperturam libri **

**[At the opening of a book]**

Madam Pince does not look happy. Granted, she never really does, but she looks especially unhappy in this moment, and it's hardly any wonder why.

"I've told you before and I'll tell you again, Mr. Black: I do not know any witch by the name of Jane Austen, and furthermore, if I find out that this is all part of some elaborate prank to wreak havoc in my library, I can assure you that you'll be very sorry for ever having asked at all." She narrows her eyes at him from behind her thin spectacles and waits for him to make a fuss.

But Sirius Black doesn't make fusses, not when he wants something. Instead of arguing, he merely pushes his hair back and sends the librarian a charming smile. "I would never _dream_ of doing something like that, Irma. I only thought that, since you're the authority on this subject, you'd be able to help me."

Pince raises her chin. She looks like she's teetering between wanting to throttle him for using her first name so disrespectfully, and humor him just to get him out of her library faster. Sirius isn't blind to the fact that his charm isn't working. It was a last-ditch effort that he hadn't thought would have much of an effect. Irma Pince is too guarded to be swayed so easily.

He can respect that, but it does make things a bit harder for him.

"I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Black," Pince says, making a sound effort to rein in her impatience. This is a student, after all, and no matter how frustrating Sirius can be, it isn't as if he's not allowed to come into the library whenever he wishes. She tries to push back all the memories of dungbombs and loud voices (Merlin, she hates loud voices), and instead carries on in an excruciatingly calm voice, "I don't know who Jane Austen is. I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere for your answers. This library contains no books under that name."

Sirius looks a bit disappointed, but at this point, he isn't overly surprised. He'd already asked Pince several weeks ago, when he had first uncovered that name, and she hadn't been of any help then, either. He was hoping that maybe she had recalled something about Austen in the time since then, but apparently his luck has run out. It looks like he'll have to put aside this particular mystery for now, and focus on the other bullet points on his list.

He has a plan, after all. It isn't a plan that he takes much pleasure in, but he also knows that by getting to know Vivian's character better – by figuring out what sort of person she really is, and what she likes and dislikes – then his prank will be that much more successful. In order to set up a truly spectacular prank, you've got to do your background research, and Sirius is determined to make this prank one of his finest.

Still, it is rather upsetting that Pince has no information about this Jane Austen witch. He's got a feeling that there's more to this particular mystery than there seems.

With a sigh, he mutters, "I guess I should probably go to class, then, since I've got nothing better to do…"

And just like that, Madam Pince's impatience wins out.

"Sirius Black, are you ditching class?" she demands. In her indignancy, her voice is several pitches higher than a standard library voice, and it causes a small disruption as students glance up to eye her.

Sirius shoots her another of his charming, suave grins, and winks. As he back peddles away from her desk, he brings a finger to his mouth and shushes, "This is a _library,_ Irma. We use _library voices_ in this sacred space. Honestly!"

Pince definitely looks ready to throttle him, and he doesn't take that lightly. Sirius snickers, dodging out of the library before she can give him a detention. He barely makes it out alive before he hears Pince start shouting after him, spewing something about 'disrespectful adolescents' and how 'nobody respects libraries these days!'

Oh Irma, honestly.

* * *

"So how was your expedition into the great recesses of the library?" James sarcastically wonders later that day, during their free slot after lunch. They, and many of their classmates, have decided to take up residence in the Gryffindor common room before their next class. The Marauders are lounging around in front of the fireplace as per usual, thankful for the extra warmth. The days have grown steadily colder as autumn has gradually crept in. Christmas is in only a few short weeks, and November's chill is difficult to cast off.

Sirius shrugs, stretching his arms over the top of the couch he's sprawled on. "Got on Pince's nerves, so I guess it was worth it for that reason alone." He makes no mention as to the reasons why his trip was a failure, but his friends seem to have their own opinions about it and he isn't able to shrug it off indefinitely.

Remus raises an eyebrow and asks, "Which girl did you take into the Ancient History section this time?"

James snickers, and Peter raises his head to hear the answer. As always, he's half eager to know, and half reluctant to hear about Sirius's always-dramatic exploits with the female race. Girls are, of course, interesting to Peter (well, he is a teenage boy, after all), but he usually finds that they are just too much work and they confuse him too much. There's also a little part of him that's somewhat jealous of how easily Sirius has it, with his handsome appearance and ability to charm any girl he pleases. Peter has never been very successful with girls and is a bit envious of his friends' confidence in that arena.

Sirius shoots Remus a smirk and drawls, "I don't kiss and tell, Moony."

In truth, he hadn't gone to the library to continue where he left off with one of his many conquests, but he doesn't mention this. As far as he's concerned, his friends seem to be of the mind that he has some sort of obsession for Vivian Blair (Merlin, how revolting is that?), and he just isn't in the mood to add fuel to _that_ particular fire.

Well, sort of.

"While we're on the subject of girls, though, I've come to a decision," Sirius proclaims, stretching his legs out and kicking the coffee table in the process. His laid-back position exudes a certain self-assurance in character that only Sirius Black, extraordinaire, can pull off so casually.

James raises an eyebrow and nudges Remus with a crooked grin. "Oh, really? What decision is that, Padfoot? Have you decided to become a celibate monk? Turned over a new leaf and decided to become a one-woman roadshow? Or are you maybe just tired of your usual snogging spots and you finally want to try out the top of the astronomy tower like everybody else?"

Remus smiles in amusement. Peter chuckles. Sirius sighs.

"No, no, and no. The astronomy tower is so cliché, Prongs. I wouldn't be caught dead up there. My reputation for being daring and adventurous would go up in flames." James shrugs, but Sirius isn't done quite yet, and adds, "Besides, don't pretend that you're a saint. I saw you ogling Ophelia's arse the other day."

At this, James's mouth drops open and he sits up straighter, casting a quick glance around the common room. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize who he's looking for. When he finds no trace of the red-head of his dreams, he relaxes a bit and shoots Sirius a wide grin.

"She's got a great arse," is all James says in defense, much to his friends' amusement. It's gotten more and more uncommon to hear James talk about any girl that isn't Lily Evans, and so it's always great fun when he admits that yes, he's still a member of the male species, and yes, he does have eyes that do actually work, thank you, despite his imperfect vision.

Sirius laughs aloud at this and gives him a playful shove, but since he's so far away and seems determined to hold his casually sprawled position, James barely feels it.

"She's got more than a great arse, Prongs, let me tell you," Sirius smirks.

Remus shakes his head, though he can't stop his smile from curling over his mouth. "Yes, we've heard _all_ about your time with Ophelia, Padfoot. It's definitely not necessary to go into detail about it yet again."

James snickers. "I, for one, would like to know what sort of decision you were talking about before Ophelia Enfield's arse came up for discussion."

Sirius nods. "Right. So you remember my latest prank?"

"…The one that's going to backfire on you, you mean?" Remus dryly asks.

Sirius rolls his eyes at him and huffs, "No, the one that's going to be the single most spectacular thing I've ever accomplished, which I'll tell stories about to all of your kids in hopes that they'll follow in my Marauding footsteps."

Peter wrinkles his nose at the thought of having kids. Remus just mutters, "Wonderful," as if the thought of Sirius influencing any young child is something out of a nightmare.

Sirius waves his hand and declares, "Well, I've compiled a list. Here, read it."

He drags a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his trousers and tosses it onto the coffee table. Remus reaches forward to pick it up and unfolds it. He looks a bit confused when he reads the first bullet point.

"…Smutty novels."

James raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Keep reading," Sirius says with a blasé shrug.

Remus shoots him a skeptical look, but does as he says. "Smutty novels. Hexing people. Insults. Jane Austen. Making up spells. Chaps Diggons. Giving people detentions slash abusing authority." He pauses, and then carefully wonders, "Do I even want to know what this is all about?"

Sirius just grins. "This, Moony, is my master list that will help me write better poetry for my prank."

Peter looks confused. "…So you're going to write poems about smutty books? I don't understand how that's romantic."

A snort of laughter escapes from James as he leans forward to grab the paper from Remus's hands. He reads through it himself and laughs, "I gotta say, I agree with Wormtail on this one."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to write poetry about smutty books, you twats. This is a list that goes into great detail about Godric's character, which will in turn help me to better understand how her creepy Slytherin brain works."

Remus pauses, opens his mouth, and then thinks better of it and shuts it again. James, on the other hand…

"Great detail? You've literally got…seven bullet points. Seven!" He laughs again.

"Actually, it's eight if you break up 'giving people detentions' and 'abusing authority'," Sirius sniffs, and then adds, "Besides, it isn't as if there's much more to her than this. She's about as shallow as a puddle."

Peter's confusion is still apparent when he says, "…I still don't understand why you need to figure her out in order to write better poetry. I think your poems are just fine, Padfoot." His brief appeal, however, is waved away by said poet.

"They need to be better. More believable. I strive for greatness, Pete," Sirius responds.

Remus pauses again, and then mutters, "Yeah, I'm definitely with Wormtail on this one too. Also, it's Charles Dickens, not Chaps Diggons."

Sirius shrugs, looking entirely unconcerned about this, and says, "Doesn't matter. Now what I'd _really_ like to know is who this Austen lady is."

Remus's expression turns thoughtful. "It's so strange, but the name just sounds so familiar to me…" He can't seem to put his finger on it, though, no matter how hard he thinks. Remus Lupin is a bit of a bookworm on occasion, but he isn't the sort that reads muggle romance novels, and this mystery goes over his head. It goes over all their heads, seeing as _none_ of the Marauders read muggle romance novels.

James leans back and mutters to himself, "Jane Austen…", as if he's contemplating something that truly baffles him. As a pureblood wizard, James Potter is not very well-versed in the muggle world in general. Lily Evans, on the other hand…

"Did you just say Jane Austen? Are you _reading_ one of her books?" she asks incredulously, pausing on her way towards the girl's dormitories. James jerks in surprise, having somehow missed the sudden sight of his lady-love (a shocking turn of events, to be sure), and swivels around in his chair to stare at her.

"Huh?" he stupidly wonders, a bit too engrossed in the fact that Lily is talking to him to hear what she's actually saying.

Lily rolls her eyes. "Jane Austen? Are you telling me that you don't even know what it is that you're reading?"

The other three Marauders turn to watch James flounder. The amusement they find from such a sight is never-ending.

James splutters, "…Erm…"

Lily raises an eyebrow at him.

"Honestly. Don't know why I'm so shocked," she grumbles, and begins to walk away. James is still spluttering a bit, apparently reeling from the shock of having Lily talk to him without insulting him (well, sort of), so it's Sirius who calls her back.

Before she can leave, he prompts, "Who's Jane Austen, then? Some sort of crazy witch who makes a fortune off of girly daydreams?"

Lily rolls her eyes at him and snorts, "No, you idiot. She's one of the most famous writers of her time. And she's not a _witch,_ she's a _muggle_. Merlin." With that, she quickly takes her leave, muttering something about how they should know this, because muggle literature was covered in Muggle Studies back in fourth year.

James gapes at Lily's back as she walks away. Remus raises his eyebrows. Peter turns to glance at the book in James's hands curiously. But – it's Sirius's reaction that really stands out. He freezes so solidly that his casually laid-back position looks abruptly uncomfortable, and when he suddenly throws himself onto his feet with more force than is necessary, it makes the other Marauders jump in surprise.

"Muggle?!" Sirius repeats in a voice that's several pitches higher than normal. He turns to face his friends, looking utterly shell-shocked. "No way. Can't be. That's – that goes against…_everything."_

It would mean, of course, that Vivian Blair hadn't read that Chaps Diggons book out of pity for Tosspot Clarke's nerdiness. She had said that she'd known it was a muggle book, back when Sirius had told her in the corridor outside of Dumbledore's office. If Jane Austen is a muggle author then that means that Vivian really doesn't care, and doesn't discriminate between muggles and wizards, at least where books are concerned. But that makes no sense, because this is Vivian Blair, and she's a pureblood elitist who was raised to _hate_ the muggle world.

"It's not much of a stretch," Remus points out. "I mean, if she likes Charles Dickens then – "

"She must be determined to desecrate books!" Sirius interrupts, not hearing Remus at all. He starts pacing with a mad fervor, looking more insane than they've ever seen him. "I'll be she choose this Austen lady on purpose, knowing she's a muggle so that she could alter the books into her weird curse dictionaries. See, it's just because she likes destroying things!"

James opens his mouth to say, "Uh, Padfoot – " and gets promptly cut off.

"Merlin. I need some fresh air," Sirius proclaims, and reaches down to grab his bookbag. He slings it over his shoulder and sighs, "Maybe I'll prank someone. I'm feeling the itch, Prongs."

"…When you say that, you really do sound like a dog, Padfoot."

"Shut it, Moony."

"…Don't be late to Defense or Anderson will have your hide!" Remus calls as Sirius heads for the portrait door. He doesn't receive a response, but he isn't overly surprised by this. Sirius seems completely flabbergasted at the prospect of Vivian actually reading muggle literature for fun. Considering his ongoing beef with the Slytherin, perhaps it isn't all that shocking.

"I've got a feeling that things are about to get really hilarious," James drawls, lounging back in a manner that is similar to Sirius's earlier casual position. His mouth curls into a grin and he pushes a hand through his hair, messing up the black strands even more than they already are. His mischievous brown eyes shine with mirth.

"Really?" Peter asks. "Cause_ I_ have a feeling it's gonna get really weird."

Remus nods in agreement. "Well I guess since this is Sirius we're talking about, weird and hilarious are probably both a given."

The remaining Marauders wholeheartedly concur.

* * *

The world has been hazy all week. Despite knowing that it would be better to just forget about the incident with Mulciber and Regulus, Vivian cannot help but think upon it more often than she would like to admit. It's as if the situation has caused an invisible door to open up inside her, and she realizes several things that hadn't seemed like a terribly big deal to her, before. Like the fact that her mother hasn't sent her a letter for weeks now, which is very strange because Isobel Blair always asks for updates from her daughter every week or so, just to keep herself informed. Or – the fact that every time Vivian sees Gavin, she feels this terrible guilt invade her body, and she'd like nothing more than to approach him and ask how he's been doing – but she can't, because he's often with his Ravenclaw friends, and no matter how many calm smiles he sends her when they pass each other in the halls, Vivian can't help but feel as though there are worlds separating them.

Maybe that's because there _are_ worlds separating them. There's always been. And what does she care, anyway? Gavin Clarke is a nerdy Ravenclaw and he doesn't matter to her at all, right? It's just that, suddenly, she finds herself thinking about things that she's never thought about before.

Terrible things; traitorous things. Things that have everything to do with the sight of that inky black tattoo curving around Mulciber's wrist. Things that are bred from the future she knows is meant for her: a Death Eater's wife, destined to be trapped in the shadows for eternity, suffocating in the background as sin and treachery creep into her heart like overgrown weeds. Things that make her wonder what sort of life exists for her, if she gave up her family. If she pulled out those weeds before they can take root.

What sort of life would she live, if she married a man like Mulciber? She's been trying to figure out what would be worse – blindly accepting her fate or turning on her entire way of life and being blacklisted as a blood traitor – but all she's managed to do is confuse herself even more. She feels as though she's sinking into a deep lake that has no bottom, drowning in a whirlpool of thoughts that never cease. And, on top of that, she also has to patrol tonight with one of the people she hates the most.

Why couldn't it have been Remus? At least she can stomach being around him. Instead, she's stuck with the most annoying, prattling, idiotic boy at Hogwarts. Well – one of them, anyway.

"Merlin, this is like talking to a brick wall. I know we hate each other, but we might as well make the most of this, don't you think?" James drawls as they walk around the western courtyard. There's a solid five feet of space between them, but in Vivian's mind, it isn't nearly enough.

She throws James an edged look and sniffs, "I'm not interested in 'making the most of it', Potter. Now shut up. You're going to alert our victims to our presence and the only highlight of tonight will be ruined for me."

James's mouth drops open for a split second before he splutters, "Our _victims?_ What're you, some old-fashioned villain?"

Vivian smirks. "Of course not, don't be stupid. I'm just looking forward to taking house points from as many Gryffindors as I can."

Her 'partner' for this evening (she balks at the thought) scoffs and arrogantly chimes, "Don't be so hasty, Blair. For all you know, your _victims_ will be members of your own house."

She shakes her head at him as if she thinks he's pathetic and sighs, "Please. Slytherins are way too intelligent to be caught sneaking around the courtyard. We aren't idiots like you lot."

James doesn't look very impressed, not that Vivian cares. He pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and sarcastically mutters, "I guess a snake like you would know all about _sneaking around."_

Vivian pretends not to have heard him at all and merely adds in a breezy voice, "Besides, I've already warned everyone in my house not to be here tonight because we'll be patrolling."

At this, James turns to gape at her once more, before spluttering, "You can't warn people about that! That's cheating!"

Vivian snorts at him and rolls her eyes. "Oh stop pretending that you're an upstanding student, Potter. You're just jealous that you didn't think to warn your house like I did."

They both cross their arms and glower at each other for several lengthy moments. Vivian's eyes blaze challengingly. James sees that challenge clear as day despite the shadows of the courtyard and the generous amount of space between them. He definitely isn't the sort of person to ignore a gauntlet that's been thrown down, and Vivian has certainly thrown one down this time.

He doesn't even think about his own actions when he turns to face the courtyard, brings his hands to his mouth, and loudly hollers, "If anyone's frisking around behind any of these pillars, CLEAR OUT!"

The sound of several surprised exclamations from the shadowy corners of the courtyard is, admittedly, somewhat hilarious. There is a general scuffle of shoes on the flagstones as several unidentified students hasten to get inside without being caught. James stands in the center of the courtyard with his hands on his hips, and shouts, "Ha! Five points from Hufflepuff! Is that Miller? Nope, no Gryffindors to be found, what a shame!"

Vivian will look back upon this moment with much amusement years from now, but for the time being, she is a little too annoyed at the way James had blatantly ignored the sight of Jack Miller, _a Gryffindor, _skirting around them to get to the doors. Her annoyance is exacerbated when James calls, "Aha – five points from Slytherin too! I guess your housemates didn't much care for your warning, Blair."

Vivian looks like she could throttle him.

"That was _not_ a Slytherin, you git," she seethes. "Are your glasses foggy or are you just a complete idiot?"

James crosses his arms and shoots her an evil grin. "Oh don't be a sore loser, you cheater."

"Not everything has to be a competition."

"You started it by warning your house. Besides, it's only five points."

"I _will_ throw you into the next lavatory we see, Potter."

"Threats don't work on the courageous."

"You're not courageous; you're a fucking child."

James just grins even wider and laughs, "Oh come on, don't be like that, Blair. All's fair in love and war. Now let's head back into the castle and finish this patrol before your presence makes me want to injure myself."

Vivian has a snappy comeback on the tip of her tongue (involving how lovely it is that she brings such inclinations out of him), but James is already striding back towards the doors before she can unleash it on him. She growls at his retreating form and mutters beneath her breath about 'annoying Gryffindors' as she hurries to catch up, her black robes fluttering about her ankles as she goes.

She's still muttering when she does catch up to him, and it's sort of hard for James not to hear what she's saying. As they retrace their steps back into the castle, intent on continuing their patrol throughout the first floor, James stuffs his hands into his pockets and declares, "You know, Gryffindors are pretty great, Blair. We're brave, smart, and most of us are pretty fit, you know?" He wiggles his eyebrows at her, amused at how annoyed she looks. Suddenly, he understands why Sirius is always trying to ruffle her feathers. Her reactions are just so hilarious.

She shoots him a disgusted glower. "I actually _don't_. There's not one good looking Gryffindor in this whole fucking school, so stop fishing for compliments, Potter."

James barks out a laugh and repeats, "Fishing for compliments? Why can't you just admit that you think I'm pretty?" He smirks widely at the way her eyes narrow at him, full of revulsion. Oh yes – this is actually borderline _fun,_ not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

"Gryffindors are not brave, they just pretend to be," she snaps at him, "and your egos make it impossible to find any one of you attractive."

James pauses at this. They round the corner and enter the wide corridor that leads into the Great Hall, and he considers her words as they pass by its hulking, ornate doors. After a moment, he just shrugs and replies, "The first step to overcoming fear is by pretending that you're not afraid."

He continues walking, not thinking too much on his words or the impact that they really have. To him, this perspective is second nature. James Potter has fears just like everyone else, but he's always been pretty good at acting as though he does not. But Vivian is not expecting to hear this, and in her surprise, she falters to a halt and just stares at the back of his head.

The very same reeling thoughts that she's been struggling with all week suddenly fill her mind again, pushing and pulling, and she finds that she can't bring herself to move. She is frozen in a way she rarely ever is. Pretending that she isn't afraid? Well, she's good at that, she supposes. She just hadn't realized until recently that she should be afraid at all, because suddenly she keeps thinking about her future in ways she never had before, and she just can't _stop_.

When James realizes that she isn't walking next to him anymore, he turns around to face her with a raised eyebrow. To be quite honest, he's expecting to see some sort of annoyed expression blazing its way over her face – some indignancy that tells him just how little she cares for his advice or opinion. What he receives, though, is anything _but_ that.

For the first time he can recall, Vivian Blair actually looks _human_. She's turned her gaze to the flagstones beneath her feet. Her brows are pulled down into a frown, but it isn't an angry sort of expression. Rather, she looks confused; conflicted in a way he isn't accustomed to, as if she's not sure if she should keep walking forward or just fall back into the shadows from which they've come.

Now, James isn't always the most observant of people. That is, he sees what he wants to see, just like everyone else. When it comes to Vivian, he always thought he'd had her pegged. And yet, suddenly, from out of nowhere, he thinks that she isn't conflicted about walking forward or falling back – not in the literal sense. No, he's got a strong feeling that she is conflicted about things far greater than this silly patrol; things that have far more control over her, and perhaps even form the foundation of her fears.

"…Blair?" he questions, not really knowing what to say. It's strange, how vulnerable she looks. He's never seen any side of her that isn't strong and sneering; never viewed her without her defenses firmly in place. He doesn't know what to think of this, or where it's come from, or what he should do in response.

He doesn't care much for Vivian. She's everything a Gryffindor ought to hate. That he believes his best friend is basically in love with her is something he still hasn't thought upon too much, besides the fact that it amuses him and gives him a reason to tease Sirius. Besides, he can't really imagine that Vivian would actually feel anything like that towards Sirius. She's too defensive, too unwilling to step outside of herself and to see the world from anyone else's perspective.

…Isn't she?

The sound of her name snaps her out of her trance. She raises her head to look at him. Their eyes lock together, and for several moments, they just stand there and stare, with none of the negative emotions that usually perforate the spaces between them in daylit hours. But then that moment ends, and Vivian composes her expression into one of cool disdain, and she brushes past James without a single word. This time, it's his turn to catch up to her.

"Alright, then?" he casually wonders, unsure of what else to say. He feels a bit awkward all of the sudden. Perhaps that's what happens, when you see a side of someone that you've never seen before. Perhaps it's just as simple as a momentary rebellion against change, in whatever form it arrives in. Thankfully, James has never been the type to stew in his emotions, and overcoming this awkwardness isn't very difficult – especially when Vivian seems determined to pretend that her lapse in time hadn't even existed in the first place.

"Come on. We still have to check the northern courtyard. I need to take some points from Gryffindor to get back at you," she mutters. Her voice verges on scathing, but James isn't entirely fooled by it. There's this quiet undertone to her words that she cannot hope to erase.

He hesitates for a moment, but then murmurs, "Yeah…sure. Let's get it over with, then."

As they make their way out of the main corridor and head further into the castle, a certain awkwardness pervades the spaces between them. It's almost a delicate thing; just barely felt but no less apparent. They fall into a silence that is broken only by the sound of their footsteps, and James finds himself actually wishing that Vivian would say something rude to him, just so that the strange stillness would be broken. He thinks it's sort of funny, that he would actually want to get into another argument with her after they've just spent the last hour or so insulting each other in a consistently repetitive manner. Anything would be better than this, though.

The northern courtyard of the castle takes about ten minutes to walk to at their current pace. It would have normally taken them longer, but Vivian is walking quickly, her stride catapulting her forward. She obviously doesn't want to be around him for any longer than is necessary, and he doesn't have it in him to complain about it. Under normal circumstances, he might push her boundaries a bit – perhaps prank her somehow for a laugh or two – but he feels, oddly, that it isn't the right moment for such things.

"…So, er…are you going to the Slug Club Christmas party at the end of the week?" he awkwardly wonders, pushing his legs faster so as to fall into step beside her. Both the action as well as the question makes Vivian throw a sneer at him, but it isn't nearly as scathing as it usually is. There's definitely something off about Vivian Blair tonight. If only he could figure out what it is, then maybe he'd feel like they are on equal footing. He doesn't like this sensation that tells him they are not; it makes him feel at a disadvantage, like he doesn't know what to expect from her.

"What sort of stupid question is that?" Vivian drawls, pressing herself faster in an attempt to remain one step ahead of him. "Of course I'm going."

James keeps up with her easily. He reaches up to rub his nose and shrugs, "Yeah, I guess you would be. It _is_ basically a club for evil Slytherins, so…"

His joke doesn't make her smile. He doesn't really expect it to. What he does expect is for his words to make her annoyed. Another insult would be the sort of reaction Vivian Blair would normally have, which is why it's so strange when she merely scoffs and mutters, "Evil Slytherins…yeah. Sounds about right."

It does sound about right. Mulciber and his Death Eater gang will definitely be there, after all. Lucius and Rosier, Snape and Avery…she can't help but wonder if they've all been marked, or if Mulciber is the only one. She wonders many things in the span of that moment – dark things, things that make her shiver with the stark sensation of dread – and she can't seem to shake it no matter how hard she tries.

Evil Slytherins…yes, perhaps that's an apt description.

James sends her a weird look, but Vivian doesn't notice. She's been too far in her head these past few days, thinking thoughts that she would have preferred to leave alone. She _has_ left them alone, for months now – ever since the start of the year, when the atmosphere of her house had become noticeably different, and she had realized that her parents haven't been sending correspondence as they normally would. There is something strange in her gut whenever she thinks about these changes, and it makes her feel as though she's currently standing on the tip of a knife. One wrong move and she will fall upon the blade, bloody and ruined.

James clears his throat. Awkward? He doesn't feel awkward! As if Vivian Blair would ever be able to shut him up. He pushes away the discomfort that tries to color his voice and says, "Yeah, well. _I _certainly won't be going. Us Marauders have way more important things to do, you know? We're planning on having a Christmas party of our own, see? And let me tell you, Blair – it's gonna be way more fun than that stuffy gathering." He blathers on for a little while about firewhiskey and music, but it's clear that Vivian isn't really paying attention. She doesn't even tell him to shut up.

Merlin, what the hell is going on with her, anyway?

"Oh – there's a lavatory. I'm glad you forgot about your evil plans," James drawls as they pass the door to one of the prefect's bathrooms. There are several of them throughout the castle, and since he's become Head Boy, the other Marauders have assumed their rights to using them as well, much to the disdain of the other prefects. James claims that they have mysterious ways of getting the passwords out of him and that it isn't his fault, but everyone knows that he's just full of bullshit.

Anyway – not even this statement breaks Vivian out of her weird silence.

She can't talk to _him_ about any of the things on her mind. He wouldn't understand. He's a Gryffindor through and through, and his advice (if he even deigned to give it to her to begin with) would be useless and too idealistic. Besides, she'd never ask for it anyway. She'll never lower herself to having an actual conversation with James Potter.

"I don't know what's going on with you, Blair, but you clearly need an intervention or something, so – " James begins, but is interrupted by a loud crashing sound that suddenly ricochets through the hallway ahead of them. They both stop, staring into the darkness with wary expressions, until…

"Ouch – Merlin, Wormtail, pay attention would you?"

"Sorry Padfoot. Moony, why'd you stop so suddenly?"

"Shut up you two – Wormtail, you're supposed to be watching the map!"

"Well I'm a bit too preoccupied with not tripping. I'm not as tall as you – "

"Shhh!"

The whispers are just barely coherent. They are more like hisses than anything else, but they are enough. Vivian feels her mouth curl up into a vicious smile. One cautious look at her expression is enough to make James pale and clear his throat. Loudly.

"Well! It's a fine night to be patrolling the _first floor,_ isn't it Blair?" he says noisily. It would really be more apt to describe his voice as an exclamation, because it carries through the hallway with a gusto.

The hissing whispers immediately go silent, but it's too late. Vivian is already storming forward, pulling out her wand and murmuring, _"Lumos,"_ as she goes. All thoughts of her dour circumstances drift from her mind as she eyes the hallway in front of her. The possibility to take points away from Gryffindor is far too engaging, especially if she gets to take them from the _bloody Marauders._

James hastens in front of her, trying to play off the situation as he laughs, "There must be students out of bounds, I guess! It's so strange that they'd be on the _first floor_ when they knew _very well_ to stay away from it tonight." His voice is slightly aggravated, and it certainly doesn't escape Vivian.

With a snort, she drawls, "Your friends are incredibly stupid, Potter. I don't know why you're so shocked."

"Oi! We're not stupid!" Sirius exclaims, and out of nowhere, he appears out of the darkness. Vivian does an immediate double-take, having not seen him before this moment. The situation reeks of underhanded magic, but she pushes that thought out of her mind for now to instead raise a pointed brow at Sirius.

He's clearly decided to become the scapegoat for his other friends. He probably figures that they shouldn't _all_ be caught, even though it's clear enough that they're all involved. How heroic of him.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Vivian smugly says, wasting no time at all in distributing punishment.

Sirius and James both gape at her.

"_Twenty points?"_ James cries. "I only took _five_ from Slytherin."

"Well that isn't my fault," Vivian shrugs, brushing his words away. "You could've taken more."

James crosses his arms and mutters something about how he _will_ take more, the first chance he gets, but Vivian is a bit too preoccupied with Sirius, who is now exclaiming, "Twenty points! I was just minding my own business – "

"You never mind your own business," she cuts in with a sneer. "You're always getting in my way and purposefully making my life hellish. Twenty points is generous, if you ask me."

"Well I _didn't_ ask you. And I do not purposefully make your life hellish – I just can't help it because you're such a foul – "

"Better be careful, Black. I might be tempted to take more points away if you insult me."

"Ha! Go ahead and try!"

"Padfoot, don't provoke her – "

"Yeah, don't provoke me, _Padfoot,"_ Vivian smirks, and crosses her arms.

Sirius glares at her. "I've already told you, you're not allowed to call me that. It's reserved for close friends – something I highly doubt you have."

"It's a stupid nickname."

"It's not a stupid nickname."

"It's literally the stupidest nickname I've ever heard. Well, maybe Prongs is worse, but still – "

"Hey, my nickname is great, thank you very much!" James exclaims from the side, but is completely ignored.

" – And anyway, you're out of bounds after curfew, so I'll call you whatever I want. What are you doing up, anyway?"

"Like I said, Blair, I was just minding my own business, so why don't you start minding yours?" he sarcastically asks.

Vivian is quickly coming to the end of her rope. She does _not_ need this right now. It's bad enough that she's had to spend her entire evening with Potter, but now his aggravating friends are here, too? You just can't make this shit up.

With an annoyed scoff, Vivian mutters, "Fine. Whatever. I don't even want to know what you get up to in your spare time, Black."

She isn't going to stick around and get into an argument with him at this time of night. As if she really needs any of his drama right now, not when she's dealing with enough of her own drama to last her a lifetime.

Sirius looks vaguely offended by this remark, and mutters, "Well I don't want to know your habits either. Obsessing over muggle things, I guess. Downright unnatural, for a Slytherin."

The words don't really mean anything, honestly. They are just wayward things; a slip of the tongue, so to speak. He hadn't meant to even say them at all, and he certainly hadn't meant for Vivian to hear them, but – well. She does.

Pausing, Vivian turns back to face him with narrowed eyes. In the light of her wand, his face appears hollow and wane. His cheekbones jut out sharply, and his grey eyes are strangely clear. The harsh light makes them seem paler than usual, as if she is looking at liquid mercury, melted down to such an extent that it's almost pearlescent.

"I don't obsess over _muggle_ things," she says, as if he's just given her the worst insult he possibly could. She looks somewhat indignant, but mostly disgusted.

Sirius just looks immensely pleased. He smirks at her staunch denial and crosses his arms. There's a touch of arrogance to his expression that looks distinctly Slytherin to her. It comes out into his voice, too, when he drawls, "Oh, don't you? I recently found out something very interesting about a certain Jane Austen. See, all this time I thought she was some barmy witch who writes smutty novels, but it turns out that she's not a witch at all! Imagine my shock when I learned that you're actually…" he glances around dramatically, as if he's checking for nonexistent people, and then turns back to her and faux whispers, "a _muggle lover!"_

Vivian stares at him. He stares back. Her expression is a mixture of annoyance and loathing; his is triumphant and uncaring. Until, of course, Vivian's mouth curls up into a sneer of such caliber that it actually frightens the Great Sirius Black a little bit (just a tiny bit, really), and she suddenly says, _"Levicorpus."_

Ah, watching Sirius's expression when her spell catches him in the chest and promptly drags him upside down into the air is something that Vivian will not soon forget. Neither is the sound that leaves his throat, all surprised and indignant, as she uses his favorite hex against him.

Sirius immediately starts flailing around, his face red with fury, and his hands scrabbling to locate his wand. But – all Vivian can do is laugh. Well, sort of. It's more of a sneering bark than an actual laugh, but she happens to be pretty pissed off at him, so it's about as much as she can handle at this moment. As for James, he just gapes at the scene, so caught off guard by the sudden turn of events (pun intended) that he can do nothing but stare. His silence doesn't last very long, though, because once Sirius finds his wand, it gets a little dangerous to stand next to Vivian.

Well, at least it's dangerous for about three seconds until someone else arrives on the scene.

"WHAT'S THIS? Is wittle Paddy and his pet snake having a row?" Peeves cries, zooming into the hallway with a whirl. He's wearing a usual Cheshire grin, arms crossed as he zips around the hall like a rogue balloon. Vivian is so caught off guard by Peeves's sudden appearance that she loses focus on her spell and sends Sirius to the ground in a very ungainly heap. He groans loudly when he hits the floor, which in turn makes Vivian grimace a bit before she realizes she has no reason to feel sorry for him – the git. Even so, though, the potential duel that would have undoubtedly broken out is rather cut short, and everyone turns to gape at Peeves, their argument quite forgotten.

The arrival of the loudest poltergeist in history makes James groan and throw his head back, staring up at the ceiling with incredulous eyes. When Peeves catches sight of him, the ghost cackles noisily, and James groans again.

"Get out of here, Peeves!" Sirius calls, his voice loudly ricocheting through the silent corridors. He picks himself off the floor with a hearty frown towards Vivian and narrowly avoids Peeves when the ghost tries to fly through him.

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" Peeves childishly hollers.

Vivian scowls up at the ghost. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but listen to Black, Peeves."

The ghost does not like following orders. He doesn't like receiving them, either. There are only a few professors in the history of Hogwarts who have successfully managed to control the poltergeist, and the only ones who are currently within the castle are McGonagall and Dumbledore – two people who none of them want to run into right now.

Peeves cackles at Vivian's poor attempt to put him in his place and blows a raspberry at her, which only makes her scowl that much harder.

"Some partner in crime you are!" James exclaims, running a hand through his hair. "What're you trying to do, get us all in trouble? I thought we were your favorite students!"

Peeves is, apparently, a turncoat. Or perhaps he has no loyalties at all, creature that he is. Either way, Vivian rolls her eyes at James's words and jumps to the side when Peeves whizzes past her.

"Wittle Pwongsy and Paddy and Snaky aren't my partners!" Peeves just shouts, and proceeds to absolutely heckle the living daylights out of them as he darts around the hallway, clapping his hands and making the loudest ruckus imaginable.

Oh – also, just for the record, Vivian _does not_ appreciate her new nickname.

"_Snaky?"_ she repeats incredulously, jumping aside again when Peeves whirls back around.

Sirius barks out a laugh. "I rather like that, actually. Maybe I should ditch 'Godric' from now on."

Vivian turns to glare at him and hisses, "Don't you bloody dare, Black."

He smirks and starts to say something about how pleased he is that she prefers his nickname over Peeves', but doesn't get to finish his sentence because Peeves launches another ghostly attack on him, and this time, he doesn't jump out of the way in time.

It's never a nice experience when a ghost walks through you. It feels like getting doused with icy cold water that's been lying around for months on end, festering with all sorts of ill and sickly things. According to the Bloody Baron, who often graces the Slytherin common room when he isn't lurking in some other part of the dungeons, it isn't a very nice experience for a ghost, either, but Peeves doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he looks positively gleeful when he watches Sirius's reaction – and what a reaction it is.

The moment his ethereal body flies through Sirius, he lets out a strangled sort of exclamation and stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet. He would have fallen onto the hard stone floor for the second time that night if Vivian hadn't been so close to him. What happens next is really more of a mistake than an act of mercy, but when she thoughtlessly reaches out to grasp onto his shoulders and prevent his fall, she chalks it up to instinct over anything else.

Her fingers clench down over his shirt, grappling with his body mass. He's a lot heavier than she expects, which makes her stumble backwards too. She probably would have fallen as well if it isn't for James, who reaches out to catch her at the last moment and forcefully pushes her upright. It's a bit of a mess, really, and certainly not one that Vivian expects to find herself in. But the worst of it all is the way she gets momentarily distracted by the hard muscles that she's holding, which flex beneath her fingertips as Sirius tries to straighten himself up. It's a momentary distraction at best – a fleeting sort of thing that passes through her too quickly to be a true interference. It's gone seconds after it comes, but it has a lasting sort of impression that is maddeningly annoying.

Merlin's Beard. Is she _really_ thinking about Sirius Black's muscles right now?

As for Sirius himself, he seems to be experiencing a fit of baffled incredulity, for when he turns his head to see that Vivian has caught him, he half expects that the apocalypse has arrived. But – it hasn't. Unless _Peeves_ is the apocalypse (it's a dead possibility – pun also intended), because the poltergeist is having a field day at the sight the three of them make.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" he cackles uproariously, spinning himself into loop-de-loops near the ceiling.

The loud laughter promptly breaks them all out of whatever spell they've been put under. Vivian lets go of Sirius as if he's burning her, so quickly that he nearly stumbles again. James, too, releases his accidental hold of Vivian's waist where he had gallantly tried to steady her, and nearly leaps backwards. Sirius just turns to stare at Vivian as if she's an enigma that he can't get his head around, and Peeves keeps cackling madly and begins to interlace his laughter with very colorful insults.

"Aw c'mon, Peeves," James cries, "Don't make a fuss, we can't wake a teacher up or we'll get into massive trouble."

Now the Marauders are all exceptionally smart. Even Peter has his fair share of moments when it concerns prank ideas. It's a rare day when they actually get caught red-handed for one of their pranks. They have plenty of accessories in their mischief making collection that lend themselves to said success (the Marauder's Map being their finest and most complex creation; proof of their intellect) – but it would hardly be a stretch to claim that they also have a very heavy helping of good old-fashioned luck at their disposal as well. Fortunately for them, this luck usually saves them from most of their closer encounters with members of The Authority. Unfortunately for them, this is not one of those encounters.

"It's far too late for that, Mr. Potter," Slughorn's voice suddenly says as the man appears from out of the darkness. In any other circumstance, he would have made for a very humorous sight, with his dressing gown and floppy sleeping cap hanging comically down the side of his head. Tonight, however, he looks a bit too thunderous to be taken lightly, which is really saying a lot, seeing as Horace Slughorn rarely manages to look genuinely angry.

The professor shrilly asks, "What _is going on_ here?"

The three students all open their mouths at once to explain.

"See, I was just patrolling with Blair and suddenly – "

" – I was attacked, Horace, honest! This crazy woman tried to _hex_ me and Peeves just – "

" – And seeing as I was provoked, I can't be held responsible for this idiot's actions – "

Of course, all their hasty explanations are drowned out when Peeves hollers, "OOHHHH PADDY'S IN TROUBLE NOW!"

Usage of Sirius's much-loathed nickname does _not_ help matters.  
"Don't call me Paddy, you second-rate ghost!"

"Quiet, all of you! Peeves, I _insist_ that you go back to your corridor at once and stay there for the remainder of the night!" Slughorn uncharacteristically roars above their loud argument. His expression is so aggravated that Peeves actually pauses when he hears his order, which is in itself a testament to just how angry Slughorn truly is.

"The rest of you, follow me. _Now,"_ he demands, and with a sweep of his dressing gown, he stalks back down the hallway to where his office is located some corridors down.

Sirius casts a look at James, who sends him an exasperated glower. Vivian just glares at them both, pushes off the wall, and grumbles about getting a headache as she follows the professor into the dungeons.

"I told you not to be on the first floor tonight," James hisses behind her.

"Well we ran into Filch on the second floor and we had to take a detour," Sirius whispers back.

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" James hisses again, as if he hadn't heard him. "Any chance to mess with Blair and you take it without even _thinking."_

"She just makes me so bloody annoyed!" comes Sirius's immediate defense.

"_Quiet!"_ Slughorn calls, and they both shut up. Vivian rolls her eyes.

Slughorn's office is lit only by a lone candle when they arrive, but with just a wave of his hand, the entire space lights up with several dozen more. They hover from the ceiling, casting their glow down upon the space. Sirius and James have evidently been invited into this office before, because they make themselves at home without any encouragement from Slughorn's part – not that they'd get it right now anyway. Vivian has, of course, been here before as well (Slughorn is, after all, Head of Slytherin House). She doesn't take a seat despite there being several available, and merely crosses her arms as she stands by the corner of Slughorn's desk, ensuring that there is a generous amount of space between her and Potter, who is the closest to her. The three of them shoot annoyed looks at one another as Slughorn hobbles to his desk, tightening the sash of his dressing gown as he goes. (Though, frankly, it looks more like a carpet.)

He mutters something about it being the 'middle of the night, honesty – and I've got first years right after breakfast!' as he pulls his chair out and slumps down into it with a frown. Then, after rubbing his eyes, he looks across the way at where his three students are waiting.

James and Sirius look completely nonchalant and at ease despite their current location. They're lounging in their chairs, legs sprawled out in front of them. They look entirely uncaring about their predicament (well, it's only Slughorn, after all – could be worse) and don't seem to care at all about the fact that they are in trouble. As for Vivian, she doesn't appear too concerned either, and is merely standing there with her eyes trained on one of the flickering candles behind Slughorn's desk, as if the effort it takes to turn her head and glance at any one of them is just too great to muster.

Slughorn gives a tired heave that is a cross between a sigh and a yawn, and grouses, "Now, who would like to explain this incredibly exhausting situation first?"

There's a beat of silence in which James and Sirius glance at each other and seem to have a silent conversation, and then James clears his throat and declares, "Well you see, Professor, it's a bit of a strange tale, and it all centers around Peeves."

Slughorn raises an eyebrow. "Peeves? Go on."

James nods, pushes his glasses up, and says, "Yes, Peeves. It looks to me as though my dear old friend here was being chased around by that shoddy poltergeist. This situation is what I like to call an _assailment_. See, when someone is just minding their own business," he shoots a look over at Vivian, "and they suddenly get attacked, well – it's a crime against humanity! Especially when that someone is sleeping peacefully in their bed when the altercation begins. Do you concur, Padfoot?"

Sirius sits up and staunchly proclaims, "Indeed, Prongs! Here I was, dreaming about chocolate fondue, and suddenly I'm being shouted at by that second-rate ghost! Well, I reacted like anyone in their right minds would, of course (which is to say that I wasn't in my right mind at all) and somehow I found myself out of bed and in the most unlikely of places. I mean, how else could one possibly explain how I ended up on the first floor? I was _assailed."_

James reaches over to pat Sirius on the shoulder and sighs, "In such a distasteful situation as this, one can't help but feel sorry for those who are dragged out of such nice dreams, don't you think, Horace? It's hardly any wonder that my dear old friend here ended up running through the castle like his back-end was ablaze. I doubt he even knew what he was doing, poor thing."

Sirius chimes in to add, "I knew only that the chocolate fondue was gone, James."

"See? I'm sure you can understand, Professor."

"Being assailed is no cup of tea, yeah?"

There's another beat of silence, then, in which both Slughorn and Vivian stares at them in bewilderment, looking simultaneously speechless. And then, spluttering a bit, Slughorn says, "But – I'm quite sure I heard someone shout out a spell?"

Sirius nods, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Yes, of course. That's quite a story too, isn't it Prongs?"

"Quite a story, yes. Padfoot, being the popular and handsome bloke that he is, is just the sort that deals with assailment regularly, see Professor? I'm afraid his sudden presence on the first floor, where I was happily patrolling with Blair (since I'm Head Boy – you remember that, don't you Horace?) gave Blair over here quite a fright. I believe she might have thought that he was there to assail _us._ Which is quite ridiculous, really, seeing as people who are assailed don't usually turn around and assail other people so near to the original assailment."

Sirius shrugs, "The situation came to blows. It was a most grievous altercation, Professor, seeing as I had only just started to realize that I was no longer in my bed at all. What's that phrase they say, Prongs? Out of the firepit or something?"

"I believe you're referring to the adage 'out of the frying pan and into the fire', Padfoot. A truly apt description, if I do say so myself."

Sirius nods. "So, really, it was all an enormous misunderstanding, but if we have to place the blame on anyone, it really ought to be put on Peeves, because he was the one who interrupted my sleep and made me think that my back-end was on fire."

James adds, "Yes, and I would just like to reiterate that I was just doing my patrols as _Head Boy,_ as per usual, and wasn't expecting Peeves to muck everything up or for Blair over here to be so insensitive about Padfoot's rough night. I mean, imagine the stress, yeah? Dreaming about chocolate fondue and then falling out of bed thinking the world is coming down around you! It's something out of a nightmare, don't you think, Professor?"

"It was most definitely nightmarish. In fact, I'm wondering if I'm still in the middle of it, if I'm being honest," Sirius inputs.

James gestures at his friend and sadly sighs, "See? He's clearly not in his right mind. It's entirely possible that he never was."

Sirius shoots him a look but doesn't defend himself this time, and just plays along. He tips his head back, looking vaguely ill, and bemoans, "This is what happens when one is assailed, I suppose!"

The pair of them fall silent again. They glance over at Slughorn and Vivian, who are still staring at them in bewilderment. Well, Vivian's expression is actually bordering on annoyance now, but it's still mostly baffled, as if she can't quite understand how someone can talk so much in such a short amount of time about absolutely _nothing_.

"…Er. Do you have anything to contribute, Miss Blair?" Slughorn asks, turning in his chair to look over at her. James and Sirius's longwinded explanation seems to have overturned his anger, because now he merely looks immensely tired and incredibly confused.

To be perfectly honest, so does Vivian. She moves her eyes between James and Sirius as if she isn't sure what to say. James shoots her a look that seems to be silently conveying her to just go with it for all their sakes, and she doesn't entirely know how to respond to it. After all, a very large part of her would much prefer rocking the boat just to get them into trouble – and if she has to sacrifice herself to do so, then so be it – but, well, another part of her is a little too tired to find it within herself to care all that much. All she really wants to do is to curl up in her bed and go to sleep, at long last.

Vivian sighs. Then she turns back to Slughorn and declares, "It's true, Professor. Naturally, when I saw Black appearing out of the shadows, I thought he was some sort of vampire-ghoul crossbreed, because let's face it, he looks scary even in daylight, and so hexing him was the obvious course of action (seeing as you generally can't have diplomatic discussions with vampires or ghouls). I thought he was an undomesticated crossbreed up until the moment you arrived on the scene and I finally recognized him for who he really is – which really requires a completely separate conversation, because frankly, it would take too long to put it into words. Basically what I'm saying is that I agree that Peeves is entirely at fault, as usual."

This time, everyone stares at _her_. Slughorn looks even more bewildered than he had moments before, Sirius looks slightly offended at being called a crossbreed, and James looks a tad bit impressed with her lengthy contribution to his original spinoff. He raises his eyebrows at her and sends her a small little smirk. Vivian is either 1) so tired that she's losing it or 2) a little too proud of how she'd handled her part in the discussion whilst simultaneously insulting Black several times over. When she crosses her arms and smirks right back at him with some semblance of camaraderie, James smirks wider. Perhaps they're all too tired to realize that this entire situation is a little weird.

Slughorn stares at Vivian for one long beat of silence before he shakes his head and splutters out, "Chocolate fondue and – and poltergeists! Merlin, I'm of the mind to just send you all off to bed and be done with it."

This is precisely what James had been hoping for. "In a way, we've all been assailed tonight, Professor! A good sleep is just what we need to overcome this terrible injustice. I'm so glad to hear that you're in agreement."

Slughorn sighs at him and shakes his head again, as if he can't quite believe that this is all happening. He waves his hand and grumbles, "Go on, all of you. You should feel grateful that I'm not handing out detentions! If you two weren't on patrol to begin with, things would be very different, yes very different indeed – "

"We're very grateful, Professor!" Sirius says, standing up.

" – And besides all that, I can't just give Miss Blair a detention when my Christmas party is tomorrow night, now can I? People would think I'm playing favorites with the others if I were to ban her! Rest up, then. If I catch any of you out in the halls again, no amount of chocolate fondue or poltergeists will save you."

"Yes, thank you, Horace. You're very kind – best to not punish those who are assailed, in my opinion! We'll see you tomorrow in class!"

With that, James bolts out of his chair, salutes Slughorn, and makes a haste exit. Sirius is quick to follow, with Vivian taking up the rear after sending her Head of House one last shrugging look. Slughorn himself merely sighs again (this time, more of a yawn than anything) and gets up from his desk, intent on returning to his bed and hopefully getting back to sleep. He grumbles a bit about whether that quaint little bookstore in Yorkshire is hiring as he ambles towards the door that leads to his personal chambers, not even waiting for his wayward students to fully take their leave before he does. Teenagers – honestly.

"Well that was an interesting lesson in bullshitting teachers, wasn't it?" James asks as the three of them are emptied out into the hallway. Slughorn's office had been rather warm with the blazing fire and multiple candles, but now they are back in the dungeons, and the cold air hits them hard as they begin walking down the corridor. Vivian falls back a few steps, feeling a bit strange to be in the center of this unexpected camaraderie – or whatever it is. She's not entirely sure.

"It was almost too easy, honestly," Sirius responds.

Vivian rolls her eyes. "It's Slughorn. What did you expect? You're just lucky that McGonagall didn't come storming over – then we all would've gotten detention until break."

The pair of them glance over their shoulders at her as if they're just now remembering that she's there at all. James rubs his jaw in a musing sort of way, pauses for a moment or two, and then snickers, "…Crossbreed…ahhh, that was a good one, I have to admit."

Sirius immediately elbows him in the stomach and complains, "Oi! Some friend you are, taking Snaky's side!"

(Vivian bristles at this and Sirius throws her a greatly amused smirk.)

James shrugs. "After what we just went through, I prefer to look at it in a more unbiased manner, Padfoot. Blair was actually amusing for once, hence I shall laugh at you for it."

Sirius turns to eye Vivian again, looking like he's contemplating whether to get into another argument with her or just call it a day. Ultimately, he seems to decide upon the latter (it is rather late, to be fair), and merely grumbles, "Yeah yeah. I'll let it go this time, Blair, seeing as we got ourselves out of detention. In fact, I'll even extend an apology for getting you into trouble even though you basically asked for it when you used my own favorite spell against me."

Vivian raises an eyebrow at him, looking a bit unimpressed. If she's being honest, she a little more than just unimpressed, but she hides her surprise well. Sirius Black has never apologized to her before, even in the frankly uncaring voice that he's using now. it's all a bit weird, really, but she chalks it up to him just being tired and not having a big enough audience to make insulting her a worthwhile pursuit.

She scoffs at him, but there's no bite to her words when she responds, "Whatever. Like I said, we were lucky that it was Slughorn and not someone else."

James sniffs, "Course, if you were _really_ feeling the camaraderie between us, Blair, you'd give us those twenty points back."

Vivian can't help the way her mouth curls back into a smirk. As they reach the end of the corridor, she snickers a bit and drawls, "Like you said, Potter: _all's fair in love and war." _Then, without another word, she turns down the hallway that will take her back to the Slytherin common rooms, leaving two Gryffindors standing at the crossroads.

"You didn't actually expect her to listen to you, right? Even_ I_ wouldn't listen to you," she hears Sirius mutter at his friend as they start walking in the other direction.

"Yeah, but you don't listen to _anyone."_

"I'm a rebel at heart, Prongs, it's true."

"You're an _anarchist,_ Padfoot. Don't pretend otherwise."

Sirius's response to this is lost as Vivian reaches the entrance to the Slytherin commons and says the password, but –

Well, considering the bizarre turn of events and the tumultuous emotions of the evening – thoughtfulness to anger to that odd friendliness she can't quite explain – Vivian actually feels herself smiling as she makes her way towards the girl's dormitories.


	24. Aeger amore

**Chapter Twenty Four | Aeger amore**

**[Love's sickness]**

If Vivian thinks that the strange energy between her and Sirius Black is destined to come to a swift end, she is quite wrong. In fact, it is only just beginning, which is something that she can't help but notice as Christmas break gets nearer and nearer. It isn't Christmas itself that brings in these alterations, but rather the events surrounding it. (Cheer and happiness and all that shite.)

The first event to give her pause is less of an event in a literal sense and more of a string of happenstances that strike her as odd. James seems to have taken to Sirius's nickname of her, and in a bizarre sequence of passing moments spread out during the next two weeks, he's decided to acknowledge her in the hallways, whenever their paths cross. His short nods and brief greetings are downright weird, especially because Vivian doesn't feel that they are sarcastically murmured. In fact, it almost seems to her as though he's convinced that the short-lived camaraderie that had been haphazardly forged between them on that fateful patrol some days ago is still very much in existence.

The second event is really more of a postscript to the first, and encompasses the entirety of the Marauders rather than just James. There seems to be a strange and slightly awkward hesitance whenever they find themselves in each other's vicinity, and only James seems to have found a way of navigating it with his odd acknowledgements. There isn't much difference in Remus's character, who has never given her reason to dislike him besides his poor choice in friends; or in Peter's, who still scurries behind someone else whenever he sees her, as if he thinks that she's there to enact revenge for some old grudge that she has against him. No, the real change exists within Sirius Black.

It isn't that he has suddenly become less antagonistic towards her – it's that his very definition of antagonistic seems to have been turned upside down. His sneers are less potent, and he's taken to ignoring her rather than calling her out like he normally would. Since the incident on patrol, whether in class or in the corridor, he has become…well, she's not sure how to describe it. Coldly cordial, perhaps? In any case, it's strange, and she's not sure she trusts it, but no matter how many suspicious glances she's given him over the last week, his attitude towards her has remained unfaltering.

The third event that proves she is not imagining this strange new energy between them is, in fact, an actual event. It is an event that she has been both dreading and looking forward to for some weeks now. Dreading, because Slug Club parties happen to be things that she innately dislikes; looking forward to, because for the most part, she'll be in familiar territory and it means that she's one step closer to the holidays. According to Slughorn, at least, Christmas is meaningless without one of his gatherings.

"What are you wearing?" Morrigan snidely wonders as she casts a glance at Rosalind, who is at this very moment prancing about in front of the mirror as she brushes out nonexistent wrinkles and admires her new dress robes. The mystery of what it is, exactly, that Rosalind is wearing (and why she's wearing it at all, seeing as she isn't even going to the party) happens to be one that they're all somewhat invested in, if only because it gives them a reason to tease her.

Rosalind looks a bit scandalized at the question, of course, which she makes known when she promptly huffs, "What am I _wearing?_ Do you not keep up with the current fashion? Honestly! What a stupid question!"

"You look like you're trying to be an ostrich," Vivian deadpans from the other side of the room, pausing for a moment as she curls her already wavy hair with her wand. She's never quite perfected beauty spells the way Rosalind has, and so instead of gorgeous curls, she ends up with tight ringlets that make her look like she got into an altercation with one of those scary muggle hair irons. (Of which Rosalind has told her many shiver-inducing horror stories.) She'll have to steal some of Narcissa's hair cream to fix the mess that is her hair, but anyway –

Rosalind glances down at her outfit and huffs again, quite indignant about it all. She does look like an ostrich, though, with the black, brown, and white color scheme, the show of leg, and the feather earrings she's wearing, which flutter about her neck. Rosalind, however, does not seem to agree.

"I do _not_. Short dress robes happen to be trending right now and these are classic colors, thank you very much! And anyhow, if you lot are going to get dressed up, then so am I."

Narcissa raises an eyebrow at her and drawls, "You're not going to the Slug Club party, though. Unless you convinced Duchet to take you?"

Ah, yes. Jeremy Duchet – Rosalind's latest crush. He's actually a sixth year, but he's tall enough to pass for a seventh year and Rosalind claims that age doesn't matter anyway, for now at least. They've already taken bets on how long they think the crush will last. Morrigan cynically thinks that a week is pushing it. Narcissa gives it a month. Vivian diplomatically claims that it will probably end during the break. None of them think it will last much longer, though. Rosalind's attention tends to move from boy to boy fairly quickly.

Rosalind sighs, "Sadly no, but I'm already over it because I'm going to a _better_ party."

In sync, all three of them turn to stare at her quizzically.

"A better party?" Morrigan asks as she wrangles herself into her robes. "And what party is that?"

Narcissa looks positively disgusted when she drawls, "I _know_ you're not talking about the drunken get-together that's being put on by the Marauders." She shoots Rosalind a sharp look and finishes, "Because that would be a new low even for you, Rose."

At this, Vivian looks up to stare at her dormmates with a quizzical expression. Her eyes shift from Narcissa's suspicious glower to Morrigan's raised eyebrows to Rosalind's hesitant, deer-in-the-headlights expression, and she blurts out, "Drunken get-together? _I_ didn't hear about any drunken get-togethers."

Narcissa rolls her eyes at her and breezily responds, "You never hear about _anything,_ Vivian. You'd have to actually pay attention to other people to accomplish _that_ arduous feat."

Vivian's mouth drops falls, looking quite indignant about that comment, but before she can defend herself, Morrigan snorts, "Blair's sad excuse of a social life aside, you _are_ going to the Marauder's Christmas party, _aren't_ you Rose? That would explain your horrific outfit and the fact that you're not moaning about spending the evening alone."

Rosalind glowers over at Morrigan and snaps, "This outfit is _not_ horrific. And so what if I am? You can bet it'll be a lot more fun than going to Slughorn's dreary party. At least there'll be firewhiskey and music that you can actually dance to!"

Vivian's eyebrows shoot up. Why hadn't she heard about this? Better yet, why does she care at all? With an annoyed scoff, she walks over to Narcissa's vanity table and grabs the half empty bottle of Madam Aquila's Hair Potion (For All Occasions), squeezing out a generous dollop and tugging it through her hair with almost angry intent. She's not sure why she's angry, exactly, only she thinks it has something to do with the fact that she's annoyed with Rosalind. The reasons for this? She has no bloody clue.

Sometimes she really hates being a female. At least men don't have a high enough IQ to actually realize when their emotions are out of order, let alone bother trying to figure out why.

Narcissa casts Vivian a slightly indignant look, probably because Vivian had used quite a lot of her hair cream, before she turns back to Rosalind and grouses, "First of all, your outfit leaves much to be desired; and second of all, you're making a huge mistake."

Rosalind pushes out her bottom lip and pouts, "What do you mean, mistake? I'm really excited!"

Morrigan shakes her head at her. As she starts to pull her hair back into a bun, she says, "You can't just _go_ to a party being thrown by the Marauders, Rose. You're a _Slytherin."_

Vivian nods adamantly and adds, "They'll eat you alive. You'll probably end up with warts by the end of the night from some stupid prank they'll pull on you. Or smelling like dungbombs, or Potter will turn you into an actual ostrich or something – " that's about the time that Vivian realizes she's being stared at by the rest of her dormmates, and she cuts herself off before she can delve any further down her very thorough list of examples. After clearing her throat awkwardly, she hedges, "…What? I happen to be very familiar with their childish ideas, is all."

(To be fair, though, if they did find a way to turn Rosalind into an actual ostrich, it would absolutely make Vivian's day.)

Narcissa sighs and waves away Vivian's words with a sniff. "The point is that this is a very bad idea."

Morrigan snickers, "I actually agree with this one. Make sure you test all your drinks, okay?"

"Yeah, that would be the quickest way to prank you," Vivian nods thoughtfully, then clears her throat again when she sees the looks the others are sending her. She decides that perhaps she should just stay silent and focuses on transforming her tight curls into something resembling beach waves.

Rosalind huffs and goes over to her bed to grab her clutch. As she goes through it, making sure that she's got everything she thinks she'll need for the evening, she declares, "You lot are too suspicious! You need to live a little – get out there and enjoy life while we still can, yeah? Besides, I'm _pretty_ sure the Marauders won't even be at the party at all."

"What do you mean? I thought you said they were the ones throwing it," Morrigan says, sticking hair pins into her bun to hold it in place. She glances over her shoulder at Rosalind and raises an eyebrow, but Rosalind just shrugs noncommittally.

"Well, I heard that they had this massive prank they were going to be preparing tonight. The whole Gryffindor house has been talking about it all day. Haven't any of you noticed?" Rosalind looks at them all, sees their blank expressions, and sighs, "Anyway, if that's true, then they'll be busy for a good portion of the night, and I can sneak out of their party before they realize I'm even there to begin with. See? Contrary to what you lot think, I actually _am_ capable of planning something."

The rest of them still look hesitant about it all, but this is Rosalind, and when she has her eyes set on something, she doesn't back down until she obtains it. Even if said thing is a night spent partying with their natural-born enemies.

"…I still think you should watch out," Vivian mutters, and turns back to the mirror. As always, Narcissa's beauty potion has worked wonders. Her chocolate brown hair is wavy and silken, and it offsets the navy blue dress robes she's wearing rather nicely.

As she leans in to adjust her make-up, Rosalind laughs, "What on earth could go wrong? I'm telling you, by the end of tonight, you'll wish you had skipped Slughorn's boring party and come along with me instead."

Well, perhaps Rosalind will end up being correct, or perhaps not. It hardly matters either way. All Vivian knows is that there happens to be many ways for tonight to go wrong. Whenever the Marauders are concerned, the possibilities are endless.

* * *

"Got everything ready?" Moony wonders as he pokes his head into the dormroom about an hour before the party is supposed to start. He is not surprised to see his three friends gathered on Prongs's bed. Judging by the hushed murmurs being exchanged between them, there can only be one explanation to the sight they make: a prank is being concocted.

Oh, it is to be a wonderful prank. Something that targets an entire room of Slytherins often is.

Padfoot glances up at him and smirks, "We're just ironing out the tricky bits now. Are you finished with your boring homework, then?"

Moony rolls his eyes at him and enters the room. He makes sure to shut the door behind him. No sense having someone overhear their dastardly plans and ruining the surprise.

"I wasn't doing homework, Padfoot. I was getting wrangled into an interrogation by a certain red-haired Head Girl, who apparently heard that we were planning something tonight. I'm what you gents might call 'damage control'," he dryly informs them, and claims his place in the circle.

Prongs chortles at the term. "Damage control? That's hilarious, coming from you."

It's no mystery what he's referring to, and Moony just shakes his head at him and mutters, "Keep my furry problem out if it, Prongs. Now what are we looking at here?"

Padfoot pauses before saying, "Before we update you, Moony, should we be aware of anything concerning the red-head you mentioned?"

There's no one who puts a downer on a good prank quite like Lily Evans, after all. Moony doesn't look concerned, though, which is always a good sign. He just shrugs and responds, "I talked her down, don't worry. She now believes that the gossip regarding us ditching our own party is just that: gossip. Also, Prongs, I have to tell you that she's actually looking forward to the party."

Prongs pushes his glass up and nods as if he'd known this all along (he hadn't), and declares, "Naturally. My Lilyflower isn't some shy wallflower who doesn't know how to have fun, Moony, otherwise I wouldn't be so convinced that we're destined soulmates. I'm going to show her a good time tonight, yeah? Make her see that I'm not the irresponsible prat that she thinks I am."

Wormtail raises an eyebrow and skeptically points out, "…But you're throwing a party for a ton of underage students and supplying them with alcohol. How is that not irresponsible?"

Moony also adds, "Plus you're not even going to be at the party."

Prongs pauses at this, opening his mouth and then closing it several times, before waving these words away and settling for, "Being irresponsible is completely subjective to the situation at hand, don't you think Padfoot? And it's not as if this prank will take us _that_ long. With luck and good fortune – something we already have in droves – I'll be able to pull off this heist and woo Evans in the same night!"

Padfoot nods in agreement. Wormtail still looks skeptical. Moony raises an eyebrow and says, "Oh, are we calling it a heist now?"

"Yeah, don't we have to steal something for it to be considered a heist?" Wormtail wonders.

Padfoot sighs at them all. "Gentlemen, let's not scrutinize Prongs's every statement. We have work to do and I for one do not appreciate this circular conversation."

Prongs nods. "I concur. You two are being overly analytical and judgmental of my choice in vocabulary. Shame on you."

"What we really ought to be doing is deciding who will be assigned to the cloak and who will be the look-out."

"Wormtail is the natural choice of look-out, seeing as he's had years of practice. Moony should really be our inside eyes and ears, as his presence at this dreary gathering wouldn't be questioned."

"He is very boring, so I agree with this, Prongs."

"Thank you for your support, Padfoot. That leaves you and me to the cloak. Does everyone accept these terms?"

Moony and Wormtail glance at each other, looking somewhat miffed that Prongs and Padfoot have once again taken control of the prank. Moony doesn't mind overmuch – except for the fact that they've just called him boring. Wormtail, though, appears slightly more upset at reprising his usual role, which has lost some of its original glamour after nearly seven years of pranks.

"Why do I have to be the look-out again?" he complains. "You two always get to have fun while I have to awkwardly wait out in the hallway. Plus there's gonna be a ton of Slytherins around and I'll probably get beat up."

Padfoot shakes his head at him. "Oh come off it, Wormtail. The look-out is important and you'll be a rat the whole time, so no one will even notice you."

Prongs nods. "Yeah, and besides, would you rather be in the middle of a room full of those very same Slytherins, or be somewhat removed from it all?"

Wormtail grudgingly admits that they do have a point, but he's still not overly enthused at the prospect of being the look-out _again_. Still, before he can argue his point any further, Moony cuts in to say, "I don't know why I have to be there. Seems like a bad idea. When people see me, they'll automatically think that the rest of you aren't far behind."

Prongs waves these words away once more. "That's not true. You'll fit right in and it's not like you'll be the only Gryffindor there. I mean, sure, it'll mostly be Slytherin gits, but Slughorn usually invites people from other houses too."

"Yeah, I know for a fact that Ophelia Enfield will be there. You can always cozy up to her if you're scared of the _big bad Slytherins."_

Moony rolls his eyes. "Oh shut it, Padfoot. I've never even spoken to Ophelia before."

Padfoot shrugs, smirking widely. "I've only said a few words to her, too."

The Marauders shake their heads at him and his womanizing ways. Oh to be a handsome ne'er-do-well like Padfoot, who can charm a girl with only a few grunts and a single look (usually in that order).

"Anyway, since you've just admitted that you're basically our 'damage control', Moony, it makes sense that you'd be in the center of it all. No one will think twice about you being there. Besides, once the prank is dealt with, we'll grab you and make a mad dash out of there," Prongs says.

"It'll be fine," Padfoot adds.

"And then after we have a good laugh about it, we'll rejoin the party and tell everyone how it all went, and I'll return to my Lilyflower's side and whisk her off for a dance or two," Prongs continues.

"…If she can stomach being near you after Moony basically just lied to her face about our not-so-innocent ways," Padfoot finishes.

Prongs shoots him a look and sighs, "Merlin, you're being a downer tonight, Padfoot. Stop trying to ruin my mood."

Padfoot snickers. "I'll just let your _Lilyflower_ do that, when she realizes that you really _are_ an irresponsible twat."

"Oi! Only I get to call her that – "

"I don't want to be the look-out."

"Chin up, Wormtail. Just think about the food we're serving at the party and carry on, yeah?"

"…As long as there's cake."

* * *

Vivian wouldn't say that she hates Christmas. Such a declaration would be a little extreme. She doesn't think it's possible to _truly_ hate Christmas, but she does think that the holiday is entirely overdone. All of the carols and songs grate on her nerves, and the whole idea of exchanging presents annoys her. Rosalind had tried, one year, to buy everyone in the dorm gifts. It had failed spectacularly. (Though the fact that her fashion sense not coinciding with anyone else's could also have been the reason for the failure.) In any case, Vivian doesn't do Christmas presents. That is, she does for her parents, but besides them, everyone else can piss off.

She doesn't really do Christmas in general, if she's being honest. It isn't that she hates holidays or prefers being cheerless; it's just that she isn't generally a fan of the sort of festivities that she's forced to be a part of during said holidays. To her, Christmas can be summarized in one simple phrase: mandatory elite gatherings full of people she doesn't give two shits about. Like this one, for example.

The Slug Club Christmas party isn't all _that_ bad, she supposes, but it's still borderline mandatory and she isn't really that happy to be there. All around her, fellow students chat about their holiday plans. She overhears a group of fellow seventh year Slytherin girls talking eagerly about where they're spending the break. Toulouse and Morocco come up for conversation, all said with bragging tones, as if they're trying to one-up each other.

" – And of course, we'll be spending the second half of break with my grandmother in Venice. She's got a gorgeous summer house right on the canal, complete with her own Gondola."

"I'm so jealous of you! My family is planning on going to the Alps. _Again."_

"Ugh. Sounds boring. But at least your plans are better than McCallum's. Did you hear what she said the other day?"

"You mean how she's spending her holidays at her family home in that farming village? At least she's got some cows and sheep to keep her company."

The girls dissolve into a fit of giggles at this, and one of them adds, "She's practically a cow herself. Fits right in, if you ask me."

This is followed up by an amused, "Oh, Jenna, that's _sooo_ bad of you!", and a good deal more laughter.

Vivian and Morrigan, who are standing close enough to overhear all of this, glance at each other. In a manner of speaking, they've sort of taken Mauve under their wing since the girl had joined the Quidditch team at the start of term, and there's something very bitter about having to listen to these girls make fun of her like this.

Jenna, who happens to be a rather well known Slytherin and is known for her extreme arrogance, giggles, "I don't know how she even got into Slytherin. She's practically a Mudblood, the way she reads those filthy muggle books."

"I know! And I _swear_ I caught her watching you get dressed the other day, Jenna. She's _so_ creepy."

"Why did we have to be assigned to the same dorm as her?"

This goes on for several more minutes, in which Morrigan appears increasingly more annoyed and Vivian ends up scowling into her drink. Mauve, of course, hasn't been invited to Slughorn's Christmas party. Her less than stellar family circumstances are stacked against her in more ways than one, and Vivian doubts that Slughorn even knows that Mauve exists, she's so quiet and timid. In this case, though, it's probably just as well that the girl isn't here. There's no need for her to overhear any of this.

"Those foul little twats," Morrigan mutters, turning her head to eye the girls with a particularly dark glower.

Vivian is of the mind to agree. The girls are none the wiser to their audience, and keep spewing out their insults. It's frankly annoying to listen to.

"In moments like these, I believe a good hexing is in order, don't you agree, Flint?" Vivian wonders beneath her breath. She doesn't usually refer to Morrigan by her surname, but, well, _in moments like these…_

Morrigan smirks. "You've read my mind, Blair," she responds, and promptly shoves her hand under her skirt. The action is so boldly done that, for a moment, Vivian can only stare dryly at her, watching her let out a curse as she tries to locate her wand, which she'd strapped to her thigh earlier that evening 'just in case'. Vivian didn't bother bringing hers, though in hindsight, she wishes she had. She's got quite a few ideas for said hexing.

When Morrigan finally locates her wand, she keeps it pressed to the side of her dress robes, hidden just out of sight lest someone see it. It wouldn't do any good to be caught in the middle of a good hex. After all, the whole point of creating trouble is to watch it unravel in front of you, with no one the wiser as to who has started it.

"How about a good tooth-growing jinx?" Morrigan wonders in a quiet, musing tone, as if she's merely asking after the weather or some other mundane, boring thing.

Vivian hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of her drink. "I dunno. I'm thinking something a little more…encompassing."

"Ah, good point. We should really target the lot of them if we're gonna do this at all," her friend responds.

They fall silent for a moment, considering the lengthy list of curses they've taught themselves over the years, for moments such as these. With Rosalind and Narcissa as dormmates, the pair of them have teamed up like this more than once. Their go-to hex involves gluing Rosalind's tongue to the roof of her mouth so that she can't form words (a very useful spell, really), but the present situation calls for something with a bit more zest.

"…Boils?" Vivian helpfully supplies.

"Too standard," comes Morrigan's response.

"How about we turn them into monkeys or something?"

"…Well, that would be funny…"

"Problem is, I've completely forgotten the Latin word for monkey…"

Morrigan scoffs. "The fact that you _ever_ knew the Latin word for monkey is a testament to how insane you are, Blair."

"You just _wish_ you had my impeccable talent for coming up with good hexes, Flint."

"Whatever. If not monkeys, then what about – "

'_Peacocks!'_

The word comes from nowhere. It's sudden enough to make the both of them jump in surprise and peer around their immediate vicinity with narrowed expressions.

"Did _you_ say that?" Morrigan demands, turning back to eye Vivian with a confused gaze.

Vivian frowns. "…No. Didn't you?"

Morrigan frowns, too. "No."

They stare at each other for one long moment before Vivian mutters, "I'm really creeped out by this but at the same time, I have to admit that it's a good idea. What's the Latin word for peacock?"

Morrigan gives her an annoyed look and mumbles, "Why are you asking _me?_ As if I would know something that useless – "

'_Pavo.'_

This time, when the whisper comes, they both freeze and narrow their eyes suspiciously. In hindsight, Vivian will admit that the whispered voice sounds strangely familiar, but for now, all she can think about is that she's very creeped out by it all.

"Are you sure you didn't just say that?" Morrigan mutters to her.

"I didn't say anything," Vivian mutters back.

"Well this is really weird."

"Maybe it was one of the ghosts?"

"They're all the way up in the rafters, though."

"Yeah but you never know what ghosts are capable of."

"Merlin, this is getting circular. Let's just hex those twats and be done with it."

And then, quite suddenly, someone else arrives on the scene.

"What are you two doing over here? Hexing people at Slughorn's Christmas party? How low you've both sunk," Regulus quips with an amused smirk, sidling up to them so suddenly that they both jump in surprise. Their reaction is mainly due to the strange voice that they've been hearing, and so Regulus's abrupt arrival doesn't help them much. When they spin towards him with suspicious, narrowed eyes, Regulus raises an eyebrow at them and wonders, "You definitely look like you're up to no good."

The words don't really have much of an impact on them. They are, after all, Slytherins, and being 'up to no good' is something that they are rather familiar with, in their own ways. Still – it's the way Regulus says it, with that slight amount of pompousness, that makes Morrigan and Vivian crack matching smirks. In this particular instance, being 'up to no good' is precisely what they're going for. It's nice to be acknowledged every once in a while, is all.

"What's it to you, Black?" Morrigan drawls, sounding slightly teasing.

Vivian doesn't wait for him to respond to her friend's rhetorical question and just shuffles closer to him to quietly ask, "Reg – the Latin word for peacock?

He pauses at the strange question and stares at her. "…Pavo, I believe. Why?"

Vivian shoots a creeped-out look at Morrigan, who shrugs.

"Merlin…why do you know that? Actually, don't answer. Tell me the Latin word for monkey," the girl demands, in an almost aggressive tone.

Regulus, now quite confused, glances furtively at Vivian as if he's hoping that she might explain these random inquiries – but Vivian just blinks at him expectantly, waiting for his reply. It comes soon after, with a heavy helping of bewilderment. "Um. Simius. Or Simia, if you're talking about just – "

"_Merlin,"_ Morrigan bemoans. "Well, Blair, the verdict's out: Regulus is literally perfect for you."

These additional random words do not help the situation, really. If anything, they only serve to make Vivian blush and to make Regulus look even more confused. He turns to Vivian again and asks, "Is this some sort of weird girl thing, where you lot make unnecessary correlations to compatibility?"

The two girls stare at him for one long moment before Morrigan rolls her eyes and snarks, "What are we, five year olds? Get your head on straight, Black. Honestly."

Vivian nods hurriedly, feeling somewhat awkward about Regulus potentially misreading the situation, and quickly adds, "I just couldn't remember is all. So – anyway, should we go with monkeys or peacocks?"

Regulus opens his mouth to demand further explanation, but he doesn't get very far before that weird hissing whisper comes again, this time with a bit more bossiness.

'_Peacocks, Merlin!'_

'_Make up your mind already!'_

'_Some people are just not natural-born pranksters.'_

'_Honestly, it's getting a little boring.'_

Now, not all of this whispering is heard very clearly by the group of Slytherins, but regardless of that, they can all agree that it's starting to get extremely disturbing. That said, Regulus, who hadn't heard the whispers the first and second time they'd appeared, is even more creeped out than the Morrigan and Vivian, who have progressed from frightened to highly suspicious. (Well, they were suspicious before as well, but now they're even more so.) They all look around to see if there are any students lingering nearby. There are, in fact, many, but they all seem to be having their own conversations and are paying very little mind to them.

"…What was that?" Regulus slowly asks, brows furrowing as he chances a glance up at the rafters, where the Bloody Baron is at this very moment trying to tip Nearly Headless Nick's head to the side. (Sir Nicholas does not much appreciate it, by the by.)

Morrigan twists her mouth up apprehensively and mutters, "…Yeah, we've been trying to figure that out for a while now."

This explanation doesn't seem to be good enough for Regulus, but before he can further investigate into the bossy whispers, Vivian lets out a swift curse and mutters, "Flint, they've moved over to the drinks table."

Morrigan looks up, only to see that their targets have, indeed, moved, and rolls her eyes. "See, this is what happens when this one gets involved in our business." She casts a dry look over at Regulus, who huffs at her.

"Why are you hexing them to begin with?" he asks dryly.

"They were talking about McCallum. Only _we_ get to talk about McCallum – those twats!" Morrigan says forcefully, and scowls. Her response is clearly unexpected, because Regulus's only reaction is to raise his eyebrows skeptically, as if he isn't sure she's telling the truth. Morrigan isn't exactly known for her loyalty. Then again, no Slytherin is.

"Well you'd better get a move on, then," Regulus intones, sounding just as dry as ever. His voice is like a tidal wave of sarcasm, the likes of which Morrigan doesn't seem to appreciate overmuch.

She scoffs at him and mutters beneath her breath, "Yeah, it's a fucking match made in heaven."

Vivian purses her lips at her dormmate-slash-occasional friend and, hoping that Regulus hadn't heard her muttered words, says again in a thoroughly impatient voice, "Let's put our transfiguration to work, then. Peacocks it is."

But – they ultimately don't get the chance to hex the stray Slytherins, because at that moment, something rather strange happens. As Vivian makes to walk towards the group, she trips. Now, the tripping in itself isn't terribly odd – people trip all the time, and it isn't generally cause for any more concern besides a few awkward laughs and a small 'oh, I'm so clumsy tonight!' remark. The tripping alone might not be that normal for someone like Vivian Blair, who likes to think that her years of player Seeker for the Slytherin team have honed her reflexes into a fine dexterity. She isn't often prone to ungainly acts of gracelessness, but, well, it's not as though she doesn't have her moments. This particular instance, however, is stranger than it normally would be because of one little fact: there is _nothing there._

Yet she feels something in front of her ankle; something that she unexpectedly knocks into. It creates a spectacular moment of true uncoordination, the likes of which she hasn't experienced in years. The last time she was so incredibly clumsy was when she tried on her first pair of high heels and awkwardly stomped around the shop her mother had taken her to, trying to figure out how women actually _wear_ such violent entrapments without keeling over at the first opportunity.

(For the record, though she's since then mastered this art, she still doesn't understand it. Morrigan explained it once, though: "It's all a clever ploy by _men_ to subdue the _female race_ – " or some such thing.)

In any case, when Vivian trips, she _trips, _and if it isn't for Regulus's quick movements, she would have fallen flat on her face in a morbidly embarrassing episode that her pride would not have allowed her to forget. It does occur to her, of course, that this is the second time that she has found herself in such a position with Regulus Black. This in itself is also not necessarily cause for concern (shit happens), but it certainly does seem as though Fate has some sort of vendetta against her.

" – you alright? Vivian?" he asks, and she blinks back to reality.

What a reality it is.

It seems that in his haste to save her, his arm has somehow found its way around her waist. His other hand is gripping her hip firmly, and his face is closer than she expects it to be, when she lifts her head to meet his gaze. He's so close that she can see hints of other colors in the grey of his eyes – steel blue, mainly, but how fascinating that it is there at all – and if she were otherwise inclined, she would be able to count the individual eyelashes that frame them.

It's quite strange, the softness of his breath and the flickering of his gaze as he looks her over, perhaps checking for injury or distress. His eyes flit over her figure briefly, with passing intent; respectful, clinical almost, yet still concerned. She's never noticed him in such stark detail before, and she thinks it odd that there is such little proximity between them now. Odd – yes, perhaps that is all she presently feels, but years from now, Vivian will return to this moment with a sort of broken nostalgia. She will have a quiet wish, a careful yearning, that she had taken the easier road rather than the harder one. She will look back upon these brief seconds and wonder if she had felt anything for him besides the ludicrous dizziness that comes alongside accidents such as these. She might fancy that she does, but for now, all she feels is confusion.

"Oh. Yes, I'm fine. I – um. Thank you."

Her awkward response seems to break Regulus out of whatever stupor he had been in, for he quickly clears his throat and steps back. She doesn't realize how warm his hands had been until they're gone.

She also doesn't realize how long they'd been standing there together, caught up in that odd moment, until Morrigan raises a pointed eyebrow and reminds them of her presence with a very droll, "Wow. I stand behind what I've already said, though I've gotta admit it's making me a little nauseous."

Regulus looks confused. Vivian doesn't. He glances at her again curiously, looking like he's about to ask her what Morrigan is talking about, but the evening, apparently, is full of strange and unnatural happenings. How else would one describe what occurs next?

A loud bang suddenly goes off in the center of the party, drawing everyone's attention away from whatever it was they were doing. They all look about with a sudden alertness, wary and tense as they try to locate the source of the noise. And they do, of course, several moments later. It's rather difficult to ignore a ton of magical fireworks going off throughout the room.

Suddenly, the entire place is filled with the fizzling sound of firecrackers and whizbangs. Dozens of them begin to go off, and not just in the center of the room but in all of its corners and nooks. The air bursts with light – greens, blues, oranges – so brilliant that it seems to make the entire place shimmer as if in a nightmarish dream. Rockets blare overhead, sparklers chase students around the room, and, to summarize, the party descends into utter chaos.

Vivian vaguely hears Morrigan yelp when a firework goes off directly next to her, but she's a bit too busy dodging the trajectory of one of the fizzing sparklers to give her more than a passing glance. It must be one of those joke products that students are always going on about because even after she jumps away, the thing does a 180 degrees turn and starts darting back towards her, causing Vivian to let out a yelp of her own and to shove her way past a group of screaming girls in hopes that it might target them, instead.

There's a loud bang overhead, and suddenly sparks are flying through the air from above, setting people's robes on fire. Later on, Vivian will find out that it isn't real fire and it isn't actually damaging their clothing, but in the moment, it certainly looks as if it is, and everyone else thinks so too. People begin shrieking. She thinks she even sees Narcissa frantically squealing on the other side of the room while Lucius tries to stomp the fire out of the hem of her dress robes, to no avail. It's very un-Slytherin-like, this chaos, and yes, in hindsight she will find amusement in it, but certainly not right now.

She doesn't know where Morrigan has gone, but one quick glance around the room tells her that she probably won't find her so easily. There are too many flailing limbs and screeching students, and the room is too large and the confusion too evident. She ducks around a Slytherin girl (actually, is that Jenna?) whose hair is burning with bright purple fire, and she nearly gets elbowed in the gut by another student as she tries to shove her way around him. On the other end of the room, Slughorn is theatrically trying to assist one of his female students without actually touching her lest it seem weird, and is wildly gesticulating at her burning sleeve as he overlooks his party with nervous appall.

Merlin, she _needs_ to get out of here. A loud rocket whizzes by her face, a little too close for comfort. She ducks to avoid it and curses at herself for leaving her wand in her dorm. It probably wouldn't be of much help right now anyway, but she'd feel better having it in her hand. All around her, people are yelling and screeching, waving their arms insanely and doing crazy maneuvers to avoid the fireworks that are _still_ going off, just as powerfully as they'd been several minutes before.

"Calm down, everyone! Ah – calm down – _bollocks!_ Devon, go and _get_ _someone_. Minerva or – or Dumbledore – yes, Dumbledore – "

"GET IT OUT LUCIUS GET IT OUT!"

"My my, I _am_ glad I came to this party, aren't you Nick?"

"Oh shut up, you crooked nosed knave – and stop trying to tip my head over - !"

"My hair is on FIRE!"

And then, just as Vivian is diving out of the way of another flailing limb that nearly smacks her right in the face, she sees a familiar head of wavy black hair only several yards away. In the midst of all this chaos and catastrophe, she cannot be blamed for the assumption that she makes as she darts forwards and reaches out to grab the boy's arm. Curtesy of yet another rocket that is exploding directly overhead, she doesn't even notice that the familiar person she has just grabbed is actually not alone. Why Regulus Black would be snickering so smugly with Remus Lupin isn't something that strikes her as odd, because there are so many other odd happenings currently unraveling before her, but yes – her wrongly made assumption is, in fact, that she has captured none other than her fellow Slytherin prefect. After all, from the back, it certainly looks exactly like him.

"Regulus – hurry up!" she demands, not even sparing a glance up at his face as she drags him through the crowd towards the doors, which have now been blown open as a flood of students attempt to escape to freedom. Some part of her must be at least somewhat aware that it's very out of the ordinary for Regulus to be speaking with someone like Remus, but in the center of this dizzying confusion, she does not give this confusing thought any consideration.

Regulus stumbles along behind her, apparently too caught off guard by her sudden appearance to move any more gracefully. Or – perhaps it's because he's ducking out of the way of yet another sparkler as it comes tearing by them, giving out wayward sparks as it loudly fizzles about the room. Vivian tightens her grasp on his arm when someone jostles into her. It's every man for himself now, and they're all heading for the doors. She pulls him along with her until they're in the hallway, which is only slightly less chaotic, as sparklers and rockets seem to be following the students out here, too. She breaks out into a jog in an effort to get out of the immediate vicinity.

Despite the insanity of the moment, though, Vivian can't help but give out a short, breathless laugh when she sees Narcissa slapping at Lucius's hair, which has become the victim of more of those flames. And – there's Jenna, still screeching in that annoying voice as her gaggle of friends shriek about how they'll be writing to their parents about this. And Morrigan – yes now she can see her – who is liberally pushing people in the direct trajectory of several flying rockets with a smug grin, taking full advantage of the situation in a way only a true Slytherin could.

Yes, Vivian can't help but laugh. As they jog down the hall, the both of them are snickering rather loudly at the turn of events. It's too insane not to laugh, and Regulus seems to be in complete agreement with her. His laugh is encompassing and vibrant, not at all like the soft chuckle that she's used to hearing from him. The pleasant, lively tones of it make her feel giddy.

Vivian pulls him all the way to the end of the hallway, which is blissfully quiet, as most of the students seem to have gravitated towards other areas. As she drags him along with her, she glances over her shoulder to peer back at the chaos still unfolding at the other end of the hall. Rockets whiz out of the room, lighting up the dark dungeon corridors with those bright shooting flames. Students flail off to safety, some flaming, some not. Slughorn is ushering people into the hallway, jumping at every loud noise and sparkling light.

She heaves, "Merlin. Did you see Jenna's hair? That was way better revenge than turning her into a peacock, don't you think?" Then, laughing, she adds, "Slughorn's reaction was _hilarious!"_

Vivian is so engrossed in the scene even as she jogs forward. It shouldn't be any surprise to her that she ends up being clumsy yet again. The current circumstances seem to dictate a certain gracelessness, and so when the tip of her shoe gets caught in one of the flagstones and she stumbles in the midst of her jog, she lets out a breathlessly surprised yelp that she normally would never have given.

Thankfully, Regulus is there, yet again. It seems to be his mission tonight to catch her, which should probably be mildly embarrassing to her. However, given the circumstances, all Vivian feels is that giddy hilarity even as she stumbles.

"Careful Godric - !"

She feels Regulus reach out to steady her, grasping her waist and heaving her upright with a snickering laugh. The sudden movement ends up with her being pulled right against his chest, flush to flush with him. This, too, should probably make her feel mildly embarrassed, but all she can do is grasp onto his sleeves and laugh. Her mind is spinning dizzily, perhaps helped along by the glass of champagne she'd had at the party, and so it takes her several seconds longer than it should to finally realize that Regulus had just called her 'Godric', which is really very strange, because he would _never_ call her that. There's only _one_ _person_ who would call her Godric and that's –

"Sirius," she breathes, and jerks her head up so fast that she nearly gets whiplash. Her eyes lock onto a laughing gaze that definitely _does not_ belong to Regulus Black.

Sirius chuckles that pleasant chuckle again and innocently responds, "Vivian."

For a moment, they just stand there and stare at each other and do absolutely nothing. And then they seem to realize the position they are in. His hands are tightly grasping her waist, her fingers clutching onto his sleeves, her face upturned towards his as he gazes down at her, only inches away…

"Let go of me," Vivian snaps, or at least tries to. In actuality, her voice is far breathier than she means for it to be.

For once, Sirius does as she says. As he slowly releases her, a strange expression overcomes his face. It isn't something that Vivian can easily describe, except that he looks almost dazed. His eyes are blanketed in a way that looks hazy, as if he's puzzled about something. His movements seem equally disoriented.

"Er…yeah. I'm not Regulus," he somehow manages to say, obviously trying to break the ice that has suddenly built up between them.

It works. Vivian rolls her eyes at him and responds, "Yes, I've figured that out, thank you." This time, her voice is definitely more of a snap than a breathy murmur.

"Don't know why you'd want me to be anyway. My brother is a total bore."

Instead of gracing that with a response, Vivian just dryly mutters, "So it was you and your friends, I suppose, who decided it would be a great idea to set fireworks off at Slughorn's Christmas party."

"Oi, just a moment ago you were _complimenting_ us!"

"I was not!"

In a high pitched voice, Sirius mimics, _"Slughorn's reaction was hilarious!"_

Vivian flaps her mouth at him a few times before settling with a scoffing, "Well it _was_ hilarious. However," she hurries to add when she sees Sirius's triumphant grin, "that doesn't mean I'll let you get away with this. It's the principle of it all."

Sirius glowers at her. He crosses his arms and shakes his head in an almost pitying manner before sighing, "Godric Godric Godric. Whatever happened to our short-lived truce the other night? We made such a good pair, and now you want to go and ruin it."

Vivian crosses her arms, too. For reasons she does not know, her heart is beating a million miles a minute. She feels breathless and strange, and her waist still burns from the memory of his hands upon it. It's makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable in a way she can't explain – sort of jerky and nervous, as if her skin has broken out into an incurable disease that has given her a myriad of side effects.

Shivers and shortness of breath. An inability to notice anything except for his eyes: the usual grey, but a softer version of it. Like the gathering of clouds just before a rainstorm or the depths of a shallow pond, just after the sun has warmed it.

"If your referring to the night you hexed me and we both had to convince Slughorn not to give us a detention, then – "

"I believe it was _you_ who hexed _me,_ but let's not be ornery about it, Godric."

"…Ornery?"

Sirius smirks. "Ornery."

Vivian lifts an eyebrow and opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, Lucius Malfoy lets out a particularly girlish shout from the other end of the corridor and the pair of them look over to see him trying to forcefully tug his shirt off, which is now smoking and billowing with flames. Vivian lets out a choking sound; an attempt at hiding her laughter. It doesn't work, of course, because then Sirius lets out a loud chortle and, as if his laughter is contagious, Vivian finds herself joining in before she can stop herself.

As if the last few minutes of arguing hadn't ever happened at all, they both collapse against the wall and laugh madly at Lucius's flailing movements.

"Oh Merlin, that is priceless," Sirius gasps.

"I've never heard him…heard him squeal like such a…a girl!" Vivian snickers.

"He's probably afraid the fire will spread to his pretty blonde locks."

"He's definitely a narcissistic tosser."

Eventually, they stop laughing so hard. Then they fall silent. Then they realize that they're sitting next to each other on the floor, a little closer than a Slytherin and a Gryffindor ought to, and that they've basically just teamed up to make fun of someone.

Suddenly remembering herself, Vivian clears her throat and sits up, making a show to put more distance between them. "Don't laugh at Malfoy, Black! He's a prefect!"

Sirius gapes at her for a few moments before exclaiming, _"You_ were just laughing at him, too!"

"I have the right to laugh at him. He's in my house."

"What a load of bollocks!"

"And for that matter, you're not allowed to tell anyone about this!" Sirius raises a confused eyebrow at her, and Vivian explains, "That we were just laughing together as if we do that all the time. And – that I mistook you for being Regulus. And that I'm letting you off the hook just this once because watching Malfoy scream like a little girl was the best thing that's ever happened to me."

They both stare at each other again. Sirius scoffs a bit, as if he can't quite believe her, but ultimately just stands up and says, "Fine! I won't tell anyone. As long as you let _all_ the Marauders off without punishment."

The new terms make Vivian roll her eyes. She should've been expecting that, really. She stands up too, brushes out the wrinkles from her dress robes, and coolly responds, "Alright, fine."

Sirius nods and sticks his hand out. "Shake on it, then, Godric."

Vivian gives him an impatient, annoyed look, but grudgingly sticks her hand out to grab onto his. Of course, if she'd known that his handshake was just a ruse to drag her abruptly into him with one swift, strong movement, she never would have willingly touched him at all.

She gasps, not expecting him to pull her so suddenly into him. Her breath rattles in her throat, and all of those strange side effects return to her. Dizziness, a shortness of breath, shivers, nervous energy…an inability to notice anything but for his eyes…

She stares up at him with a bewildered expression, her eyes roving over his face before locking onto his eyes. There it is again – that strange hazy expression, that quiet grey. It buffets into her like a tall wave and makes her forget that she's supposed to be angry with him for purposefully messing with her.

Sirius gives her one of his crooked smirks and, in that pleasant voice, he murmurs, "By the way, Godric, you look very good in blue."

Then, just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, he lets her go. His hand pulls out of hers, and Vivian can only watch in a dazed sort of manner as he turns on his heel and strides casually back towards the chaos. And it is in that moment that Vivian realizes something, though it won't have any significant effect on her for a while yet:

Sirius Black _is_ chaos.

More importantly, Vivian Blair rather _likes_ it.


	25. Canis major

**Chapter Twenty Five | Canis major**

**[Constellation of Sirius, the dog star]**

Rumors regarding the fiasco of Slughorn's Christmas party spread through the school like wildfire. During the next few mornings, it's all students can talk about during breakfast, much to Slughorn's dismay. The professor seems to be quite out of sorts as he digs into a generous English breakfast, with all the additional commodities that one might expect. Even the poached eggs (his self-declared favorites, which all of his potions students discover at some point during his wayward lectures) do not seem to uplift his spirits, which have been thoroughly dashed by the failed festivities and the many letters from parents that have been swarming in since. Unfortunately for him, Slytherin parents can be quite nosy when it comes to their children, and take any slight against them as a personal injustice.

Vivian, though she hadn't written to her own parents about the ordeal, even receives a letter the very next morning about it, which is somewhat surprising to her. While her parents tend to keep to themselves concerning her extracurriculars and such, she usually receives regular correspondence from her mother, at least, every few weeks during the school year. Yet she hasn't gotten any letters from either her mother or her father in the past month at all, and so when her family owl swoops down the next morning and delivers a roll of parchment that bears her name written in her mother's preferred silver ink, she is a bit surprised.

Most of the Slytherin table is vehemently chattering about 'those blood traitors' who ruined their evening, and so nobody gives Vivian a second glance when Leopold snootily drops down onto the table next to her. Vivian jumps a bit at the owl's abrupt appearance, nearly knocking over her pumpkin juice. Leopold, haughty creature that he is, blinks at her in an almost judgmental way and hoots impatiently, already ruffling his wings as if preparing to fly off again, whether she takes the letter or not.

"Oh alright, I'm hurrying," Vivian mutters to him, rolling her eyes as she reaches forward to carefully untie the roll of parchment from his leg. Leopold's wide stare seems to peer right into her soul, and she is quite sure that if he could, he'd be rolling his eyes at her, too.

Across from her, Morrigan leans backwards and groans in an overly dramatic voice, "Ugh. _That_ creature again? Your owl is insane, Blair."

Suffice to say that none of her friends have a high appreciation for poor Leopold. Back in third year, Leopold had made a dive right for Morrigan's head during a particularly busy morning, having apparently decided to bypass the table entirely. The end result had led to the thoroughly amusing sight of the owl getting tangling in Morrigan's hair, which had then led to the girl swatting the poor thing onto her plate, where Leopold had given her a menacingly condescending glare (as only owls can do). Vivian had to intercept before Leopold could retaliate, which would have undoubtedly happened given the state of his pompous and, in that moment, very bruised, ego.

There have been several other incidents concerning him over the years, including but not limited to: him unashamedly sticking his rear-end into Narcissa's food, getting into a physical altercation with Rosalind when she once tried to stroke his feathers, him proudly ruffling his wings and knocking over glasses of pumpkin juice, and generally being a vain, stuck up creature with no regard for anyone.

In any case, Leopold doesn't have a stellar reputation at Hogwarts, which is something that rather amuses Vivian.

"Yes, he's a spoiled brat. Aren't you, Leo?" Vivian asks in a mock-cooing voice, which seems to bring personal insult to the owl. Honestly, sometimes she thinks the creature actually knows what she's saying. Leopold gives her a snarky hoot and ruffles his wings again, blinking at her in that judgmental manner before he hoots once more and flies off, looking very eager to be rid of her. Vivian can't say that she's disappointed.

She reaches for her pumpkin juice as she unrolls the parchment, curious to see what her mother has written to her about. Considering that the Christmas holidays are only a few short days away, she's sure that it has something to do with that. While she isn't wrong (there are several lengthy paragraphs regarding the Blair's plans to, coincidentally, remain at home for the holidays), her mother has quite a few other things to say, too. Vivian paraphrases the best parts to Morrigan, who has decided to sit with her this morning in lieu of locating her other friends. Most notably, her mother seems to have heard all about Slughorn's party, and seems quite shocked at it.

"She's heard about it from the Bulstrodes," Vivian is saying, smirking a bit as she recalls the incident of last night. She's not very surprised that the news has reached her parents so quickly, considering how closely Slytherin parents follow their children's progress. (She's sure that at least part of this interest is due primarily to ensuring that said children live up to their family name and do not bring embarrassment to their doorsteps, rather than an actual parental desire to keep up with their children's lives. At least, this is her experience.) That said, she is a little surprised to hear from her mother at all, but she doesn't give it too much thought, as she'd been expecting some sort of correspondence before leaving for break, if only to iron out the details of how she'll be returning home.

Morrigan snorts at this and mutters, "Of course she did. Miriam can't survive without her mummy."

Miriam Bulstrode does, indeed, rely on her parents quite a lot. They tend to baby her, treating her like some sort of prized possession or some such thing. As a result, she's probably the most spoiled girl in their year. Vivian and her other dormmates try their best to have as little to do with her as is physically possible. Well, with the exception of Rosalind, who is actually somewhat friendly with her on the basis of Miriam having 'the best gossip'.

Vivian hums out an agreement and puts the letter down. She'll read through it properly later on, when she has a little more privacy. For now, she's a little too busy listening to Morrigan inform her all about Rosalind's night at the _Gryffindor party_ (this part is slightly sneered, naturally). Vivian had already been asleep by the time Rosalind had returned to the dorm hours after curfew, so she'd missed the majority of the drama.

"She wouldn't shut up about it even after I threatened to hex her," Morrigan grumbles, but is quick to add in a slightly more amused voice, "Apparently, she got a ton of compliments for her ostrich look. I suspect people were actually making fun of her, of course, but she was just too dumb to realize it."

Normally, this would be the time for Rosalind to chime in with a haughty, _'I've already told you – that color palette is trending!', _but, as it is, the girl is not here to defend herself. The pair of them had left her in the dorm about thirty minutes ago, where she'd been half asleep and moaning about her hangover and the very real possibility that she'll never get out of bed again.

"Anyway though," Morrigan continues breezily, "I don't know how she managed to go to a Gryffindor party and not be jinxed, but she claims that no one even recognized her. Oh, and she also said that she really likes their common room. That traitor."

Vivian raises an eyebrow at this and drawls, "Definitely a traitor. We probably could've smuggled her into Slughorn's party if she really wanted to go. I doubt he would've noticed."

Morrigan snickers and, reaching for the plate of bacon, says, "He was a little preoccupied with the Marauder's latest prank."

It's not exactly a stretch to assume that the Marauders (troublesome prankers, the lot of them) were behind that little stunt. The entire school has already given them full credit for it despite the lack of solid evidence on their part. Apparently Vivian had been the only person to actually see one of them, with the exception of Remus Lupin, whose presence at Slughorn dinners isn't overly suspicious, as he's attended a number of them in the past at Slughorn's personal behest. Anyway though, Vivian is the only person in the school who has actual evidence that the Marauders were behind the prank. If she wanted to, she could march right up to one of the professors and rat them out. They'd probably believe her immediately, without any question, because everyone already suspects the Marauders anyhow.

But she hasn't. She's been oddly tight-lipped about the whole fiasco, because…

Well, just because. There's no actual reason. Why would there be? She'd struck a deal with Black to save some face and, seeing that it's Christmas, she's feeling a little bit generous.

Shrugging off the weird feeling that is creeping through her, Vivian clears her throat and wonders, "What happened to you, anyway? I couldn't find you or…uh, or Regulus at all."

Well, she thought she'd found Regulus, but instead she'd ended up with his aggravating older brother. She can still feel the traces of his hands upon her waist, warm and firm. When she closes her eyes, she can hear his laugh, and recall with perfect memory the way his grey eyes had shone down on her. She can still imagine the warmth of his body beside hers as they'd laughed their way to the stone floor, and the heat of his breath on her cheek when he'd dragged her into him to say…

_By the way, Godric, you look very good in blue._

" – But thankfully I managed to get a good hex in during the chaos. I expect we won't see any trace of Jenna or her friends today. Last I saw, they were running away from some younger students, who were trying to pull their feathers out – "

Vivian glances contemplatively over to the Gryffindor table, where the Marauders are having a very loud, celebratory breakfast feast. Potter seems to be making some sort of speech, because he's holding his goblet up and crooning about something while his fellow Gryffindors lean in to eagerly hear his tale. Remus is snickering at whatever Potter is saying, and Pettigrew seems to have stars in his eyes as he pushes his plate away in some creepy sort of hero-worship-induced trance. But – it's Sirius who really captures Vivian's gaze. Sirius, who's got his arm slung around Marlene's shoulders, who's laughing loudly at his friend's speech, who's face is crinkled with a happiness that looks strangely compelling…

" – Hilarious, I'm telling you. I'm pretty sure I heard from one of the fourth years that they went down to the hospital wing. I've no idea how Pomfrey is dealing with that – "

Why had he let her drag him out of the party and away from his friends, anyway? Did he think it was funny that she thought he was Regulus? He had plenty of time to wrangle his arm out of her grip and to rejoin his comrades, but instead he'd allowed her to pull him down the corridor and into the shadows without even batting an eye. Is that normal? Do arch-enemies do that?

" – Though I do have to admit that the monkey hex would've been pretty funny too. Next time, I suppose – "

Furthermore, why had he told her that she looks good in blue? Who compliments someone you loathe? And – why did he feel the need to drag her so close to him in order to do it? Is this some weird mind game he's playing, or had he just said it for a laugh?

"Why are you staring at Sirius Black?"

Even more importantly, why had her heart been beating so fast? Why had his proximity made her feel hazy and pleasantly warm? Why does she suddenly think that he actually has a nice smile, when it's genuine and real - ?

"Blair."

"What?" she murmurs, eyebrows furrowed as she stares across the Great Hall. The sound of her name only barely brings her out of her stupor. It takes a bit more than that to really snap her out of it.

Luckily, Morrigan lives to serve. (When it has to do with messing with her so-called friends, at least.)

"You're staring at Black as if you want to jump him," she dryly informs her, and then smirks, "Have you joined the bandwagon at last, and are admitting that you think he's fit?"

This certainly draws Vivian's attention. She jerks her head away from the Gryffindor table to gape at Morrigan with a disgusted expression. Morrigan just rests her chin on her palm and waits for the inevitable. She doesn't have to wait for very long.

"That's – gross!" Vivian splutters, pushing her plate away with more force than is necessary. The edge of it ends up striking her goblet, which is still full of pumpkin juice. It teeters for a moment before overturning, dousing the table and nearby place settings with the substance and making several of her housemates shoot her annoyed glowers. Vivian doesn't even notice, of course. She's too busy denying Morrigan's repulsive suggestion.

"As if I would ever find him attractive! I can't believe you'd even _say_ that – "

"You were just staring at him _very_ intensely. Did you even hear a word I said, or were you daydreaming about throwing him into a broom closet and having your way with him? I know you're a secret dominatrix, Blair."

"Dominatrix?" Vivian repeats incredulously. "I am not!"

"I'll bet you are, deep down. I'll bet you're the handcuffs and whips kind of girl."

"Flint, I swear to Merlin – "

"A little BDSM never hurts anyone. Well actually it does, that's sort of the point."

"_What_ are you two talking about?" Mauve suddenly asks from several places down, and they both turn their heads to look at the girl in surprise, not having seen her before that moment.

Morrigan smirks widely at Mauve's expression and snickers, "We're talking about Vivian's sexual inclinations."

Vivian shoots a glare her way. "Stop reflecting your twisted fantasies onto me."

"Oh come on, Blair. I know you've got a dominatrix streak and I know you want to show it off to Black."

Over to their left, someone begins to cough very loudly upon hearing this. Morrigan and Vivian's back and forth dialogue has grown a bit more heated the more annoyed Vivian has become, so Morrigan's voice carries a little more than it had at the beginning. It's not overly surprising that several people overhear her. It is sort of ironic, though, that one of those people happens to be –

"Stuff it, Regulus. I wasn't talking about _you,"_ Morrigan snaps, though there's a clear undercurrent of amusement in her voice that rather lessons the impact of it.

Regulus is actually blushing a little bit when he peers over at Vivian, still coughing into his napkin. Vivian isn't entirely sure what to say in this particular situation, so she just clears her throat and ignores him in favor of turning back to Morrigan and muttering, "Oh piss off."

Morrigan laughs at Vivian's obviously embarrassed expression. Regulus reaches for his water to take a large sip. Mauve eyes her teammates and burgeoning friends with a cautious eye.

"I'm going to find somewhere quiet to read the rest of my letter, without having to listen to your slander," Vivian gripes, sending Morrigan one last sneering glower before standing up and grabbing her letter. It's a bit sticky now from where a portion of it had gotten soaked through with pumpkin juice, but Vivian just dabs it a bit with her napkin before reaching for her book bag and making a quick escape. She thinks she hears Morrigan call out something about how Filch had never thrown out the ancient chains and torture devices from 'the good old days' ("If you're interested!"), but she doesn't stick around to hear about it and instead makes a beeline for the door. And, if anyone else notices her leaving (such as, for example, a certain black haired self-proclaimed womanizer), well, nobody stops her.

"Dominatrix!" Vivian mutters to herself as she swings out of the castle and into the pillared courtyard that, only a week ago, she'd been patrolling with Potter. There are a few students milling about before classes, braving the cold winter air, but only a few. Most of them are either still at breakfast or have found somewhere marginally warmer to idle away their time, which makes it the perfect spot to get some real privacy.

"Honestly," she huffs, mutters something about whips and handcuffs, and plants herself onto one of the stone benches that overlooks the lake in the distance. She takes a moment to riffle through her book bag, grabbing her Slytherin scarf and tugging it forcefully around her neck and over her mouth to keep warm, and then leans back as she pulls her letter out. A few seconds are dedicated to unfurling it against her thigh, pressing the paper out of its rolled up position, and then she is rereading it from the beginning.

'_Vivian, darling,_

_I heard from Elan Bulstrode about that horrific Christmas party. Those troublesome Gryffindor students that you're always complaining about seem to have a penchant for making mischief. It's quite appalling to hear that they've even targeted Horace's impeccable dinner party! I often feel quite badly for poor Walburga, to have such a rebellious, traitorous son. It's just as well that we broke off your engagement to that boy, Vivian. You can do far better._

_I'm sure you are eager to return home for the holidays so that you can once more be around those of proper standing. Day to day life at the manor has been very changed of late, which is, in part, the reason I have kept my distance from you during your first term. You may be somewhat surprised to hear of these changes, but I implore you to remember that it is for our own good, Vivian. Your father has recently been in touch with several upstanding individuals, who have secured for him a position that he is most pleased with. I'm afraid I cannot go into further detail in this correspondence, but you will hear all about it upon your return in a week's time._

_I have heard from your professors that you are doing fine in all of your classes, as usual. I would have expected nothing less, Vivian, so I am very pleased to hear that they all seem to think you will excel in your NEWT exams at the end of the year. Filius Flitwick, halfbreed though he is, has even informed your father that you are one of the finest students to ever grace his class, and though it's hardly complementary coming from someone of his stature, it's of no surprise to me that you are superior to your classmates. I suppose trifling with those bizarre charms you come up with has paid off in that regard, but you'll need to begin refining yourself even more, Vivian, to prepare for marriage. Proper young ladies do not dabble with crude spellwork. Expect several lessons in decorum during your break, my dear, to brush up on what is appropriate for a woman of your standing to participate in. And before you argue with me, I'll extend an olive branch and promise that I won't tell you to quit the Quidditch team, though I am still quite displeased that you find it so compelling. Honestly, if it wasn't for your father and his 'Quidditch legacy', I never would have let you play such a barbarous sport! _

_Speaking of your father, he will be returning from work soon and I have several important guests to host, so I shall end my letter here. Do keep up with your grades during this final week, Vivian. I know you must be excited for the holidays, but I don't want to see your marks dropping._

_I am eagerly awaiting your return,_

_Isobel Blair,_

Upon finishing the letter, Vivian tilts her head back to glance up at the pillars of the courtyard. She traces her gaze over the lines of ivy that run up the stonework and looks at the small pockets of sky visible between them, falling into a musing silence. Across the courtyard, a group of younger students are talking about their plans for the holidays, but Vivian hardly notices them. Their voices fade in and out of her mind like water. She is too busy thinking about her mother's words.

Isobel Blair has always been an upstanding member of upper-class society. She's never been involved in any scandals nor has she been on the receiving end of negative gossip. As far as pureblood families go, Vivian's has always held an almost stellar reputation, maintaining a neutral standing no matter the occasion. It's hardly out of character for her mother to keep her letters aloof and carefully worded. This is her method for ensuring that there can be no misinterpretation to her already perfect name. Vivian does wish that she had made an exception this time, though, because she's a bit confused, on two accounts.

The first has to do with this new position that her father has secured. True, Lukas Blair has his hands in many organizations. Besides his job at Gringott's, he is on good terms with several higher-ups at the Ministry. To hear that he is using his social influence in new ways isn't shocking at all. What gives Vivian pause is how their home has apparently changed drastically as a result. What especially makes her feel wary is how her mother is 'hosting' several important guests. This, in itself, makes Vivian quite unsure, but it's the second point that she mostly focuses on, for that is a point that she knows a little more about.

She had thought that her mother would say something about the marriage arrangements, and can't understand why she would be so close-lipped about it. After all, ensuring that their daughter is matched to a man of upstanding social qualities is something that both her parents take very seriously, her mother most of all.

Brow furrowed, Vivian looks down at the letter again and rereads it, skimming over the Slughorn party and her mother's insistence that she gives up on her experimental charms and such (as if she hasn't heard _that_ before). Just like the first time she'd read it, though, she doesn't ascertain any further information about what is going on at the manor with her father's new position, or concerning her arranged marriage. Her mother is, as always, very aloof.

She's in the process of reading and rereading her mother's cold and austere signature when a bell shutters through the silence, and Vivian straightens up in dismay. It's only a warning bell, but if she doesn't get a move on, she'll be late to her first class. She's got Defense Against the Dark Arts first today, which means she'll have to hurry if she wants to reach the third floor before the final bell. She'd rather not be late for Anderson's lecture. He's definitely not afraid to hand out detentions to students who disrespect his class by piling in after he's already begun teaching.

Vivian stuffs her letter into her book bag and stands up, rushing back into the castle and joining the trail of students who had a later breakfast. She breaks free of the crowd upon reaching the first of the moving staircases, barely managing to jump onto it in time before it begins to move. As a result, she loses her balance for a moment, hands flying to grasp onto the stone railing as the entire thing shifts mid-air, and releases a breath of relief when she rights herself without stumbling any further.

Merlin, she's been rather clumsy lately.

"Vivian!" a familiar voice calls right as she begins climbing the staircase towards the top, which is of yet still on its way to the second floor. The voice makes her pause a moment before she looks up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion – until she sees none other than Gavin Clarke standing with two other Ravenclaws several steps above her.

The two Ravenclaws stop their conversation to give her appraising glances, but they don't linger long before returning to whatever it is they're discussing. As for Clarke, he turns away from his housemates to take a tentative step towards her, looking somewhat hesitant as he does so.

"Haven't seen you around lately," he awkwardly says, gripping the railing as the staircase continues to lurch to the side. He reaches up to fiddle with his tie as he leans against the stonework, and then messes with his hair as he sweeps a hand through the wavy amber of it, and then with his sleeves – all the while looking increasing awkward and uncomfortable, as if the effort it takes to speak to her like this is physically exacting.

Vivian brushes off his awkwardness to shrug, "I guess that's because you're never late to any of your classes."

Her obvious reference to the fact that today he _is_ running late makes the edge of his mouth swing up slightly. His eyes turn several shades warmer, and in an instant, he looks less awkward.

"Yes, well, I had some work to do in the library this morning, and I nearly missed breakfast because I lost track of time," he explains, somewhat haltingly but with far more ease than he had before.

Vivian nods at his explanation, not really knowing what else to say. The two of them fall silent for a moment. Their eyes lock, and then they both look away, gazing at the portraits on the walls around them and peering at the top of the stairs, as if hoping that the staircase would get a move on already. It's never been this slow _before._

"So…erm, I have something you might like," Gavin says after several beats of silence. He clears his throat at her raised eyebrows and hurries to add, "It's not…that is, it isn't anything special. I mean, _I_ think it's special but it's not – uh, it's not a gift or anything."

Vivian crosses her arms and looks at him suspiciously, which doesn't help matters much before it only makes Gavin blush.

"You have something I might like but it isn't a gift," she repeats, sounding somewhat bored.

He sighs, and hides his flushed countenance as he leans over and goes through his book bag, which, as per usual, is nearly bursting at the seams.

"Right. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. This isn't because I…_like_ you or anything," he quickly tells her.

"You don't like me, Clarke?" Vivian repeats again, this time sounding amused.

Gavin pauses, peering up at her through the amber strands of his hair. He looks like he's about to argue this point, but then he sees the smirk that's growing on Vivian's face and just huffs, "Would you stop doing that?"

Vivian blinks innocently at him. "Stop doing what?"

"Stop twisting my words. Of course I like you – I just don't want you to think I'm romantically interested in you or something because that…uh, would be awkward, I guess."

He blushes again, and Vivian snorts. She eyes him, arms still crossed, and drawls, "I'm not sure if I should be offended by that."

Gavin rolls his eyes at her. "Just take this already and stop making fun of me."

He shoves a book into her arms just as the staircase grinds to a halt. Students begin making their way onto the second floor. Some walk around to get to the next staircase while others head down the nearest corridor and disappear. As for Vivian and Gavin, they just stand there on the stairs for several additional seconds as she gazes down at the book he's just given her, which is apparently _not_ a gift and _not_ a show of his secret love for her, and reads the title of it.

"Oliver Twist?" she says, and then realizes that if they don't get off the staircase, it will start moving again and they'll be well and truly late. She nudges him towards the floor and together they climb the rest of the way up before making their way to the next staircase, which is thankfully not moving.

"It's really good. You'll like it, I'm sure," Gavin is saying, quite energetically. He launches into a brief description of it, detailing the story of the orphan boy who gets involved in pickpocketing before his kind-hearted nature becomes his saving grace. From his brief explanation of the plot, it does sound like something Vivian would like – especially that Dodger character, who is apparently one of Gavin's favorites because he dedicates some time in describing him to her. By the time they reach the third floor, Vivian's got the book tucked into her book bag and is listening more eagerly than she cares to admit.

"You know, you're quickly becoming my dealer for contraband muggle books," Vivian tells him after he's finished, and smirks widely at the look he sends her.

"Your dealer?" Gavin incredulously says, and huffs, "You're making it sound illegal. Merlin."

She laughs. The D.A.D.A. class is at the end of the corridor, and seeing as they're both headed to the same place, she doesn't think twice about taking a few extra seconds to grab one of her own books and shove it into his arms, too. Gavin, of course, is rather surprised by this, and just barely manages to catch it before it falls.

"Um. What is this?" he asks. He's currently holding _'A Dictionary of Hexes, Vol. IV', _and looks _quite_ hesitant.

"It's not a gift or anything," Vivian tells him, sticking her chin up. "I don't want you to think I _like_ you."

She smirks. He stares. After a moment of watching his confusion spiral through his eyes, though, it starts getting a little boring. Vivian shakes her head at him and sighs, _"Open_ it, Clarke."

Again, he hesitates. "…Will I get hexed if I do?" he asks, and raises his eyes to peer at her suspiciously.

"No. Honestly, what do you take me for?" she mutters, though she isn't very offended.

She's not even offended when Gavin mutters, "A Slytherin," in response to her rhetorical inquiry.

Still, he opens it (rather warily), and seems somewhat surprised when Vivian waves her hand over the cover page and the whole thing rearranges, transforming the title into _'Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen'._ Gavin, who is absolutely not expecting this, raises his eyebrows and slowly comes to a halt in the middle of the hallway as he studies the book.

"Since you're apparently forming some sort of nerdy book club, I suppose I should contribute," Vivian airily informs him. "We'll return the books after break. You'd better read it, Clarke, no matter how much you dislike Austen. I don't let just anyone borrow my dictionaries."

Gavin splutters at her for one long moment before he settles for, "Dictionaries, as in plural? How many 'dictionaries' do you have? And I never said I disliked Austen – I just don't think she's the best author and all her books are about marriage."

Vivian just shrugs at him and says, "Whatever. I'll be quizzing you after break to make sure you actually read it. And I'm talking about _details,_ so make sure you go through it with a fine-toothed comb, Clarke."

Gavin, clearly not expecting the course of this conversation, ends up laughing a bit as he carefully pushes her book (now not a dictionary) into his bag. He shakes his head at her as they start walking again, looking somewhat miffed but mostly amused.

"You're going to regret you said that, Blair," he says jokingly. "I think you're forgetting that I'm a Ravenclaw. Perhaps I'll write down a wordy quiz for you, too."

Vivian laughs at this. Somehow, she wouldn't be at all surprised if he did exactly that.

"As long as no one knows that I've joined your nerdy little book club," is all she says, not sounding all that concerned with his quiz threat. In fact, some part of her looks forward to it. She rather likes the thought of forming a friendship with someone like Clarke, who is so different from her and yet shares her love of books. It's comforting, in a weird way, to know that she isn't alone in this interest. To know that there is someone else who innately understands the passion of a good story.

"…If you don't understand something in Oliver Twist, you can – well, you can write me over the holidays, if you want," Gavin says, sweeping a hand through his hair once more.

Vivian would normally laugh at him for suggesting that. Borrowing books is one thing, but writing letters to each other is quite another. But – well, instead of laughing, all she does is smile widely and send him a quick nod, and all Gavin does is duck his head a bit and clear his throat.

Yes, it is rather nice to have someone who understands her love of books; who shares her curiosity and her appreciation for literature. And, though a month ago she would have told Gavin that he'd be better off staying away from her, Vivian can't bring herself to do that now. The thought of friendship is too compelling to shake off so easily.

"So you're certain I won't get hexed if I read this book?" Gavin makes sure.

Vivian rolls her eyes. "No, you won't get hexed."

"Okay okay. It's just sort of strange is all."

"Just get inside the classroom, Clarke."

* * *

Professor Anderson ends up assigning them actual homework to do over break, which makes the entire class groan disparagingly. He isn't the only professor who assigns them homework though, and at least his assignment isn't a two foot essay like McGonagall had given. Instead, his homework is of a more practical nature, and involves the Patronus charm. Since the start of term, more and more people have been able to conjure a sort of foggy light from their wands, but only Potter and Black have successfully managed to summon corporeal forms. According to Anderson, this isn't that surprising. It isn't as if they spend every lesson working on the Patronus. They've got other material they need to cover for NEWTs too.

With only a few more days until Christmas break, the entire castle is buzzing with excitement, but Vivian doesn't feel the same excitement that seems to thrum through the castle. In the common room, the younger students are chattering excitably about their holiday plans and what they expect they'll be receiving for Christmas. Even at their young ages, they pompously boast about dragon hide jackets and solid gold hair pins as if their lives depend upon it, and it makes Vivian wonder if she was ever that bratty. She doesn't think so, but then again, it's difficult to see oneself clearly and without bias, so perhaps she's just deluding herself. Either way, the noisy chatter makes it impossible to get any work done in the commons, which is precisely why Vivian finds herself in the surprisingly empty library.

Well, it isn't necessarily empty. There are lots of other seventh years hurriedly working through last minute assignments, and a number of fifth and sixth years, too, who need as much time as possible to get through the rigorous course work that they've been assigned before break. The entire left side of the space seems to be taken over by seventh year Ravenclaws (though Gavin seems to be missing from the picture, she notes), who are knee deep in homework, madly trying to multitask several essays at once. It seems that not even the promise of the holidays can give anyone any relaxation concerning the NEWT workload. In fact, most of the professors have buckled down even more than they already have, as if they expect that the students will cease taking them seriously in lieu of the excitement that Christmas brings.

As for Vivian herself, she isn't exempt from the work. Besides her lengthy Transfiguration essay to be handed in at the end of the week, she also has an assignment on ancient runic blood oaths for Gillanders, several star charts to calculate, a few extra credit potions to research (which Slughorn had graced the class with that afternoon, for those whose grades 'need a little push'), a second essay for Gillanders about the use of engraved runes on magical artifacts, a supposedly easy quiz for D.A.D.A. to study for (though she suspects that Anderson had been a little too innocent in his description of it), and an essay on the Finite Incantatem spell for Flitwick, which they've been covering for the past few days. On top of all this, there are also the end of term exams to study for.

Unfortunately, there aren't very many open seats available to her that are very appealing. The Ravenclaws have occupied all of the tables by the windows. There's a seat next to a younger Gryffindor boy, but when he sees her eyeing it, he quickly nudges his book bag onto it. She sees an open spot next to a Hufflepuff girl, but upon looking at her a little closer, she recognizes her as the one who had been in the broom closet fraternizing with Black some weeks ago, and rules that out. There _is_ one other option, but Vivian isn't too keen on it…

Well, it's not as if Remus Lupin will bother her anyway, and besides, he's on his own today. Besides him, there are no Marauding idiots in sight, and desperate times call for desperate measures. Biting back a grimace, Vivian makes her way around the rows of tables and drops down in the seat across from him without a word.

He notices her, of course, but Vivian coolly disregards the short glance he sends her in favor of pulling out her Ancient Runes textbook and setting up her ink well. Lupin isn't as nosy as his friends, and he doesn't seem to mind overmuch that she has claimed the chair. For several minutes, they both ignore each other entirely – him, scratching away at a roll of parchment; her, leafing through her textbook to find the correct chapter. She should've known the silence wouldn't last, though.

"…I have to admit, I'm glad I didn't take Ancient Runes this year," he murmurs in lieu of a greeting, raising his head to eye her textbook for a moment. "Gillanders is a bit…" he trails off, apparently not being able to procure the right word.

Vivian snorts and supplies, "Loony?"

The corner of Remus's mouth twitches up, and he snickers, "Yeah, I reckon that's a good way to describe her."

She has to admit that it's rather strange to be having a conversation with Remus Lupin, but then again this entire year has been a bit strange so far, and Vivian just hums and murmurs, "I like her, though I could do without all the stories of her childhood."

Remus nods. "Mm. And her embellished Welsh hero sagas."

"I still have no idea what a Cath Palug is."

"Probably just as well."

They glance at each other and offer politely neutral expressions, but both of their eyes are glimmering in an almost amused way despite the cool aloofness of their features. Yes, it's all very strange.

Vivian breaks the weird contact to lean down to riffle through her book bag, searching for a fresh roll of parchment, and Remus goes back to working on his essay as if their entire conversation hadn't happened at all. But, when she lets out a frustrated curse, he glances back up curiously to see that Vivian has heaved her entire bag onto the table beside her. She knows she'd brought several rolls with her before leaving the common room, but she can't seem to find any of them.

"Something wrong?" Remus hesitantly wonders, and shoots a glance around them as if he's worried that someone might overhear his inquiry and judge him for being polite to her.

Vivian casts him a look and imperiously returns, "Nothing's wrong, Lupin," finally locating one of the rolls and tugging it out. In the process, though, it catches on one of those damnable letters that she doesn't know what to do with, and the cursed thing ends up fluttering onto the table between them before she can grab it and shove it out of sight.

Merlin – those letters. She's taken to shoving them into the bottom of her book bag for safekeeping, partially because she doesn't want to look at them and partially because she can't seem to bring herself to get rid of them once and for all. By now, she's got a small collection of them taking up space amidst her textbooks and spare quills. She doesn't dare leave them in the dorm for fear of Rosalind getting a hold of them. She certainly wouldn't put it past her. Rosalind isn't truly malicious, but she does have a tendency towards gossip and loves to be the harbinger of it.

In any case, the moment the letter flutters to a stop, a strange familiarity graces Remus's eyes. He stares at it as if he's seen it before. In fact, he looks somewhat uncomfortable, though to be perfectly honest, Vivian doesn't think much on it. She's pretty uncomfortable too, and besides – he'd already looked pale and shaken before she'd arrived at his table, so it's hardly discriminatory.

"Ah…is that…?" he starts to ask, then seems to think better of it and clamps his mouth shut. After an awkward clearing of his throat, he just mumbles, "…Never mind," and falls silent.

Vivian grabs the thing and, with perhaps more anger than necessary, shoves it unceremoniously back into her bag. She tries to brush the whole thing off, but one glance at Remus tells her that this will be relatively impossible. He seems to know precisely what that was, and it only makes her that much more uncomfortable.

So, in an effort to squelch said discomfort, Vivian just scoffs, "That stupid wannabe poet just can't stop going on about how shiny my hair is. It's frankly sickening."

And that's frankly a lie, but Remus seems to buy it because he coughs as if trying to hide a laugh and hums, "Really? Maybe he just has a preoccupation with shiny hair."

Oh, Vivian has _no_ idea…

"Whatever. What are your plans for the holidays?" Vivian abruptly asks, changing the topic quickly. She normally wouldn't have bothered asking (it's not as if she actually cares anyway), but she'd rather not carry on about that damnable love poem for any longer than is necessary. Remus, at least, doesn't call her out on it. In fact, he looks almost relieved for the topic change, albeit surprised that she had asked after something so personal, as if they've been friends for years.

Personal or not, Remus goes along with it. "Staying with my mum like usual. I'll probably swing by the Potter's at some point and meet up with the others, though. They always host a New Years party."

Vivian doesn't miss the way he says 'meet up with the others', and takes that to mean that the Marauders just can't bear to be away from each other for more than a few days. The thought of them all celebrating New Years together makes her wrinkle her nose. They're already annoying enough at school; she can't imagine what they're like out of it.

If Remus notices her haughty expression, he doesn't mention it. Instead he just politely wonders, "What about you?"

It's the right thing to ask, in these circumstances. This is how one conducts small talk, after all. It's just that Vivian has never participated in small talk with Remus Lupin, so she feels distinctly awkward when she responds, "Oh you know. I'll be staying in England this year. We usually go somewhere warmer but…plans change."

Yes, it's very awkward talking about holiday plans with Remus Lupin, because unlike her fellow housemates, he probably doesn't make a habit of leaving the country during breaks. Vivian can literally feel his discomfort upon hearing her response, despite the fact that her voice hadn't been overly arrogant or pompous.

This is a strange feeling – almost like they're both standing on opposite edges of a vast lake, in two very different worlds, with just the barest hint of similarities connecting them. He has no idea what her life is like and vice versa. They are, in a manner of speaking, polar opposites.

"Right," he mutters, and looks down at his essay once more, quite unsure of what to say in response.

Vivian doesn't mind. Silence falls once more, and she dives into her Ancient Runes essay with vigor. As the minutes pass, she can almost pretend that Remus Lupin doesn't exist at all, as if he is merely some incorporeal being that is easily ignored. She doesn't know if it's the same for him, though. Every once in a while, she can see him glance up at her when he lifts his head to turn the page of his textbook or pull out another roll of parchment, and she suspects that he doesn't find it nearly as easy to ignore her as she does him. Then again, she's had a lot of practice in the art of maintaining aloofness. It's just another pebble thrown into that vast lake between them, barely rippling the surface of it as it drops to the sand below.

And then, about twenty minutes later, their silence is interrupted.

"_Moony. Pssst, Moony! Rem!" _

Remus jerks up as if he's been electrocuted. Vivian looks up, too, resting her chin on her palm as she blinks towards the source of the noise. It doesn't take an Unspeakable to figure out who is behind said noise.

Remus gives his friends a sharp look as if silently telling them to shut their gobs, and glances over at Madam Pince. The Head Librarian is, for now, completely unaware of the Marauders, who are now leaning against the threshold of the library but not stepping inside. Pince is too preoccupied with assisting a student to notice, but they certainly catch the attention of the nearby tables.

Oh, they see Vivian, but none of them make a fuss about it even though they must think it strange that she's sharing a table with their friend. Potter gestures to Remus impatiently, obviously wanting him to come with them. Pettigrew is peering into the library beneath Sirius's arm, which is casually propping himself up. They've all dressed down somewhat, getting rid of their school robes and thoroughly making a mess of the rest of their uniforms.

Sirius, especially, looks particularly unkempt. His tie is barely done up, mainly just draping over his shirt, which is now loosened at the top. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows despite the chill, and his shirt is untucked. He's probably hoping that a professor will notice and give him a lecture about it, just to give them hell right back. His eyes briefly clash with Vivian's, but he doesn't seem to be overly concerned with her presence today, for he's quick to return his attention to Remus. But – just that one look is enough to spark memories within her that are better left alone, because they seem to bring a strange and wild storm to her soul whenever she lingers on them.

Grey eyes, so close to hers. The memory of his hand, warm and firm around her waist. She's having those bizarre side-effects again – the dizziness, the shivers. Suddenly, she can't focus on the paragraph she's reading, because she's too _aware_ of him.

What is this? It's not the usual feeling she gets whenever Sirius Black encroaches upon her peace. This is not tempestuous aggravation. It isn't impatience, or frustration, or condescension. No, it is wilderness settling against her beating heart; a tangled forest thick with gnarled roots. She cannot pass through them for there are too many, and a sensation quite similar to claustrophobia descends upon her. Her fingers itch. She's overcome with a very sudden desire to leave, if only to remove herself from his immediate vicinity.

Luckily she doesn't have to. They are here for Remus, and Remus doesn't make them wait very long. Soon, he's piling his things back into his bag and sending her one last politely neutral glance before standing up. When he reaches his friends, Potter claps him on the back and leans in to say something, but his normally loud, lively voice is now too soft for her to hear, and the reason for their sudden appearance is lost to her.

The group turns their backs to the library. Vivian watches them out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to be obvious about her curiosity. She has no interest in whatever immature and childish thing they're going off to deal with. The sooner they leave, the better. And, if once Sirius's back is turned towards her and her eyes linger on his curly black hair and disheveled person for a moment longer than necessary, she certainly doesn't acknowledge it.

Neither does she acknowledge the strange way her heart is hammering in her chest or the fact that, when she turns back to her essay, the runes seem to blur together on the page before her. And she doesn't know why she does it, really – it's just some unconscious thing that happens; a doodle in the margins that she's not even aware she's doing, because her mind is swimming with those confusing side-effects and she's too busy wondering where all of it is coming from, and why, and how –

But when she blinks her vision clear, the runic symbol of the dog star has been contemplatively slashed onto her paper by her own hand.

Sirius. The brightest star in the sky.

With a surprised jerk, Vivian vanishes the mark with her wand and forcefully tugs her book closer, leaning into it so that she can see only the droning text before her, and –

Nothing else.


	26. Papilio effectus

**Chapter Twenty Six | Papilio effectus**

**[Butterfly Effect]**

"What's that you're reading, Regulus?" Vivian wonders as she catches sight of him standing by the bulletin board in the common room. As she approaches him, she realizes that he isn't actually reading at all, but rather pinning up a new notice. Slughorn, their Head of House, must've wrangled him into it, knowing that he could trust that the boy would get the job done (prefect status and all).

At the sound of her voice, Regulus glances up from his task with what almost looks like a grimace. It naturally has Vivian raising an eyebrow at him. Regulus Black isn't emotionless of course, but he rarely expresses said emotions. To see such a look on his face now certainly heightens her curiosity.

"There's been an…incident," is all he tells her, and shifts over to the side so that she can read.

With less than a week, now, before the holidays, the entire school has been eagerly looking forward to the Quidditch match being held the Wednesday before break. Well, at least people _were_ looking forward to it.

"Canceled?" Vivian repeats incredulously. "Why has it been _canceled?"_

Now Vivian isn't one of those obsessive Quidditch players who lives and breathes the sport. She suspects that the award for Most Fanatic Athlete At Hogwarts would go to James Potter, whose Quidditch practices are apparently something straight out of hell (or so she's heard). Her lack of obsessive interest in the sport doesn't mean that she doesn't enjoy it, however, and she had in fact been looking forward to this particular match for a while now, teetering between vicious eagerness and nerve-wracking agitation. The reason for these feelings is, of course, because it is a match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and it happens to be fairly important.

Besides the usual reasons (Slytherin and Gryffindors are natural rivals, their matches always ends up forcing the entire school to choose a side, the days leading up to said matches are full of cajoling insults that fly endlessly back and forth during classes, mealtimes, and every second in between) – yes, besides these usual reasons regarding why such a match is important, Vivian happens to have a personal stake in it.

She made a bet with Sirius Black at the start of the year, and she is _not_ going to lose.

"Like I said, there's been an incident," Regulus says, and goes on to explain, "One of the Gryffindor players – Linsey Middleton, I think? – had a family emergency. Something about one of her parents being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn't you read the paper this morning? It was all over the front page." Regulus pauses and adds, "Anyway she's gone. Dumbledore escorted her to her relatives' house last night, and Gryffindor is down a Chaser. The match has been moved to January."

It's the way he explains this – with that removed tone, as if he doesn't care at all – that makes Vivian stare at him. She doesn't gape or stutter or anything so drastic, but she does cautiously ask, "…What happened to her family?"

And somehow, in some way, Vivian is not surprised when Regulus shrugs again and says, "Murdered. Her mum was a muggle, far as I know."

All of this is delivered point blank, with an expressionless face. Is it purposefully done? He is, after all, looking to join the very people who orchestrated this murder. Once he graduates, he'll probably be a part of those dark wizards who are reigning terror down upon the country. To said wizards, this muggle parent probably deserved it. This woman shouldn't have crossed the line and married someone with magical blood. She shouldn't have been so presumptuous. The fault lies entirely with her.

Vivian swallows back a wave of nausea and nods. Regulus is watching her now, and she doesn't want him to see how sickened she is by this news. She can't admit that this path of sin and murder makes her disgusted. She can't admit that she feels sympathy towards that Gryffindor girl. No – those are not the sort of things that Vivian Blair can express, even to Regulus. _Especially_ to Regulus. He knows that she isn't too keen on the Dark Lord's methods, but he doesn't know just how repulsed she really is by them, and she isn't about to have a heart to heart about it. Not when Regulus Black will eventually become a Death Eater himself.

He wouldn't understand, and that's clear enough from the way he's looking at her, as if he can't figure out why she looks uncomfortable about it all.

"…I see," she manages to say, as smoothly as she can, and then she rushes off before he can dissect her expression any more than he already has. The iron of his eyes is too chilling to view for any longer than necessary, and all she can think about is the other night, when Mulciber had scornfully invited her to roll up his sleeve.

"_He's not a Death Eater yet. It's only a matter of time."_

Sirius was right. It _is_ just a matter of time. But Vivian isn't sure that she can bear to watch it happen.

And so, as ever, she flees – away from Regulus, away from the common room, away from her housemates and their smirking laughter…

But she cannot run from everything, and unfortunately for her, it isn't going to take her very long to figure that out.

* * *

News of Gryffindor Chaser Linsey Middleton's early leave has reached everyone in the school by the end of the day. Vivian has since learned that her mother had been caught up in a public attack in London, occurrences that have been happening more and more frequently as of late. These public attacks have no specific target. Rather, the Death Eaters prey on the muggles at large, in a continuous need to eradicate the world of all non-magical folk and to instill fear into those they deem lesser.

Linsey Middleton is all anyone can talk about, and Adrian Mulciber's group is certainly not exempt from the gossip. They've been nudging each other all day, smirking and whispering in hushed voices about how the girl deserves worse, and how her father is a blood traitor and should be dealt with too, and the like. The common room, the dungeons, the Slytherin section of all her classes – and even here, at their table, surrounded by sympathetic professors and classmates – their smug murmurs are inescapable.

It certainly has an impact on Vivian, though she wouldn't admit it for the world. However, she is not the only one to be impacted by the news.

"Alright, Mauve?" she asks when she sees the girl waiting outside of the Ancient Runes classroom. Professor Gillanders is just finishing up with her current class. Her voice can just be heard through the closed door, raised in her usually high octave as she goes over last-minute assignments and the like. Several other students have gathered nearby as they wait for her class to let out, but Mauve is standing alone, as usual. When she hears Vivian's greeting, she glances up at her through her thick fringe of honey brown hair and shrugs halfheartedly.

"…Yeah," she responds, just as halfheartedly.

Vivian isn't a fool. While she's never gone out of her way to get to know Mauve before this year, she's well aware of the precarious position the girl is in here at Hogwarts, and especially within the Slytherin house itself. Her parentage sets her apart in a way that is impossible not to notice. Though she wears emerald and silver, Mauve is as different from most Slytherins as anything, and the majority of their house isn't afraid to make sure she knows it.

This time, though, it isn't about her stocky appearance and large-boned features. It's not about her hand-me-down robes or lack of wealth. It has nothing to do with her shy reservation and quietly awkward demeanor. No, this is about blood. Heritage. Family legacy. The things that truly make a Slytherin popular within his or her own house. The things that seem to matter the most.

The situation with Lindsey Middleton is one that strikes a little too close to home for someone like Mauve McCallum, whose pureblood father had married a muggleborn. Her mother had died some years ago, during their second or third year. Vivian can't recall when it happened, exactly, but she does remember the bullying. Before that moment, Mauve had successfully kept to herself, as quiet as a shadow. After the news of her mother's death had swept the school, though, she had received more attention than she could ever had anticipated, and certainly not the good sort.

Slytherin house prides itself on purity and on the powerful magic that runs through their veins as a result of it. Mauve had not lived up to some of their housemates' standards. In fact, she had failed every one of them.

So it is with some cautiousness that Vivian approaches the girl now, all too aware of how the news about Middleton might have affected her.

"Looking forward to the break?" she asks, leaning against the spiral staircase that rises up into the eastern tower, where Gillanders's class is located. Her voice is purposefully light. Mauve is a flighty creature, prone to acts of alarm. She doesn't want to scare her off.

It does occur to Vivian, of course, that she really shouldn't care either way. Mauve is _exactly_ the sort of person that her parents would not want Vivian to associate with. She isn't the worst sort, seeing as her father is from good stock and she has at least some decent blood in her, but she certainly isn't an ideal friend to have. Mauve doesn't have any connections that would be of interest to the Blair family, and befriending the social outcast is probably not a good idea.

…Which is precisely why it's so appealing.

Vivian has never been the rebellious sort. She's always been a good pureblood daughter, never acting out against her parents or her circles. There's never been a reason to, really. She's always accepted her world. She's never known any other way of living, and so she's never questioned it before. But suddenly, everything seems to be changing. The rise of the Dark Lord has altered her world like nothing else, and what once was familiar and peaceful has now grown cold, in a way Vivian can't quite describe. She feels it even now, within the safety of Hogwarts. Even here within these walls, which separates her from the harsh realities of the outside world, that coldness lingers.

Mauve, though – she isn't cold. She isn't familiar and warm either, but she's certainly not like the rest of their house. Mauve is new and different and not someone Vivian ever thought she'd want to be near, until now.

"It'll be nice to be with my da," Mauve is saying, shrugging again in that halfhearted manner. Despite this, though, her eyes are glimmering with something that resembles eagerness, and Vivian knows that she really is excited for the holidays and for the peace that they will bring. "He always goes out and cuts down a huge Christmas tree, but he waits until I get home to decorate it. We have this tradition where we make cookies and get out the ornaments on my first night home – " then, abruptly cutting herself off, Mauve shifts uncomfortably and mutters, "Er…not that you care, I guess."

She's right, in a way. Vivian _doesn't_ care. Mauve is everything that Vivian should disregard. And yet…

"That sounds nice," Vivian replies, tracing a finger over the Advanced Ancient Runes textbook that she's carrying in her arms. The front cover depicts some of the more complicated runic symbols that are still used today, mainly by certain departments of the Ministry. They're complicated things that branch outward in multiple layers, containing a complex labyrinth of shapes and lines. She idly smooths her forefinger over one of them as she tries to imagine being a part of such a tradition, but for the life of her, she can't picture it.

She's never decorated a Christmas tree before, or baked cookies. The Blair house elves do all of that. Her mother would probably deem such actions to be below her; fit for the servants only.

It does sound nice, though. Maybe she would have more of an appreciation for Christmas if she were to take part in traditions like those.

Her and Mauve exchange idle small talk until the doors swing open and they're let inside. Gillanders welcomes them all and asks them to take out their writing utensils, and then begins to start her lesson with her usual vigor. But Vivian – her mind is full of imaginings that seem foreign but quietly appealing. Decorating Christmas trees and baking cookies and being in a room full of laughter and joy, and she wonders, not for the last time, what that would be like.

And she doesn't know it yet – how could she? – but one day, in a future too outlandish to predict, Fate may well give her those joyful moments. It may well.

* * *

Oh yes, Gavin Clarke is _such_ a nerd. Even now, as the prefects gather for their final meeting of the autumn term, he just can't stop talking. From the way he's going on, one might think that _he_ was appointed Head Boy instead of Potter. If Vivian didn't have a reputation to uphold, she'd admit that it's a little endearing. Just a little, mind you.

" – Buckle down after the holidays. Too many students seem to think that they can wander about whenever they want, with no regard for _curfew,"_ he's saying, casting a look at James. In fact, all the Ravenclaw prefects look over at their Head Boy. It's almost comical, the way their all turn their eyes to him at the same time. Potter shifts a little in discomfort, but otherwise doesn't react save to grin cheerfully at them with an air of practiced obliviousness. His put-upon innocence is easily seen through, but no one comments on it. Well, Gavin does, but then again, he's seemed to have taken on the role of 'Deputy Head Boy', so that's of no surprise.

"I'm sure our Head Boy will take more of a stand next term," Gavin says, eyes narrowed just so as he shoots James one more glance. Then, turning to Lily, his face morphs into a more polite expression and he asks, "Do you have anything you'd like to say, Lily?"

Lily opens her mouth to respond, but Potter cuts in with a suave, "Actually,_ I_ have something to say."

The Ravenclaws raise their eyebrows at him. Gavin mutters, "Wonderful," beneath his breath. Lily turns to James with a wary look on her face, as if she's afraid that he might ask her out again or do something equally as horrifying.

But James just opens his arms and declares, "Gavin's right, I haven't been the _best_ Head Boy that Hogwarts has ever seen. I should take my responsibilities more seriously, and so after the holidays are over, I intend on taking charge of our meetings and stepping into the role like I should've done at the start of the year."

The _entire room_ gapes at him.

James doesn't even blink, though. He just cheerfully adds, "Prefect schedules, patrols, assisting with the professors – you name it. Lily and I are here to help."

He's definitely very satisfied (even smug) to link his name with Lily's. He casts her a large, blinding smile and falls silent again, waiting to hear what everyone has to say. Well, he's actually waiting to hear what _Lily_ has to say, but unfortunately for him, he'll have to wait longer. Lily doesn't look as if she knows what to say at all, and just stares at him in quiet shock, mouth parted, eyes bewildered, and obviously wondering why he's suddenly trying to be responsible when he's never been before. James doesn't seem to mind her silence, though. In fact, he seems to revel in her expressive surprise. It certainly beats the looks of anger and aggravation that he's used to seeing her direct at him.

Vivian raises an eyebrow but doesn't call him out on his obvious tactics. Lily must be too surprised to realize that he's only saying these things because he's trying to impress her, but it's fairly obvious to the rest of them. This is _James Potter,_ after all. Lifelong troublemaker, arrogant prat, general ne'er-do-well. She could go on, but she's more interested in Gavin's reaction. It's rather funny, watching his mouth flap in shock. Maybe _he's_ too surprised to realize what Potter is really doing, too.

"Er – that's. Very good," Gavin splutters. He apparently can't find the right word. Surprise must split his verbose vocabulary in half.

Another voice, wise and slightly amused, adds, "Indeed, that _is_ very good, Mr. Potter. I had hoped that you would live up to your badge. That's why I appointed you Head Boy, after all."

Professor Dumbledore smiles at the room of prefects and quietly steps inside, closing the door behind him. Vivian has been expecting him to make an appearance at some point during the meeting. Gavin had informed her that the Headmaster always takes part in the last meetings of the term. It's mainly a way for him to keep up to date on the proceedings of the castle. Of course, Dumbledore probably already knows everything that goes on within the walls of Hogwarts, so his attendance isn't truly necessary. Perhaps it's some step towards uplifting the morale or something. Vivian doesn't know. All she knows is that it's what he's been doing for years now, according to Gavin that is.

James sends the Headmaster a grin, though he looks slightly awkward to be called out by him in front of everyone. He pushes a hand through his messy black hair and clears his throat, but Dumbledore says no more on the matter and merely pulls up a chair. It's quite strange, seeing him take a seat amongst them as if it's the most natural thing in the world. He seems completely at ease, though, as if he joins them at every single prefect meeting without fail.

"Carry on," Dumbledore says with a wave of his hand, and crosses his hands in front of him contemplatively.

"Right," Gavin coughs, squaring his shoulders beneath the watchful gaze of their Headmaster. In a voice that exudes Ravenclaw authority, he says, "We were just doing some early planning for next term. Though since James is so eager to take on more responsibilities, I suppose he'll be presenting us with an in-depth schedule when we all return to Hogwarts after the break. _Won't_ you, James?"

Oh, Vivian does like it when Gavin corners Potter like this. The edge of her mouth swings up into a sharp smirk as she watches Potter flounder a bit at this abrupt question. She doesn't dare say anything snarky with Dumbledore here, but it takes a great deal of effort not to.

"Erm. Right, of course. Yeah," James finally responds, looking _quite_ out of his depth.

Gavin smiles, but there's an edge to it. He knows _exactly_ what he's doing to Potter and it's lovely.

"I was going to do this myself, but since you've expressed the interest, you can certainly take on more work, James. Ah – hand me that quill, would you Axel?" Gavin wonders, and one of his fellow Ravenclaw prefects passes him the quill that he's using to take notes on the meeting (very Ravenclaw, if you ask Vivian). They all watch as Gavin starts jotting things down on a spare bit of parchment.

"Let's see," he murmurs, "A synopsis of the first term – basically, you'll need to summarize everything that's happened, go over the patrol reports, look for questionable activity and improper House Point deductions, etcetera etcetera…ah, and of course you'll need to figure out the patrol schedules for January (I prefer assigning people on a rotational basis, that way they can get into a routine). There's also Hogsmeade trips to decide on, and of course various holiday décor – you'll just focus on Valentine's Day for now, but you can do the others later – and I was thinking it would be a good idea to create a rating system for our prefects, that way we can more easily decide where and when to schedule them based on how well they do during certain time frames, so you'll have to study the individual reports to get a good idea of all that. Ah, and of course there's other things to plan as well, such as graduation – I'll let you work out a list of your own for that (most of your ideas will probably be vetoed, but you might as well give it a try) – and…"

Gavin talks. And talks. And talks.

And Potter stares at him with silent horror that grows with every passing second, until at last, he cries, "You've got to be bloody joking! I'm not doing all that during my Christmas holiday!"

Ah, so much for responsibility.

Gavin pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises a pointed eyebrow at Potter, as if he has no idea why James is so bothered by the very long to-do list. (Really, it's very long; nearly the entire piece of parchment is filled.)

"You were the one who said you wanted to take on more responsibility. As Head Boy, this is what those responsibilities entail," Gavin informs him dryly.

It's not true – not entirely, of course. That is, Vivian has no doubt that Gavin would in fact spend his holiday working all of this out, and that if he had been assigned Head Boy then he would most assuredly treat the position with even more authority. But it certainly isn't something that every single Head Boy in the history of Hogwarts has done.

Dumbledore chuckles and glances over at Potter with twinkling eyes. In a droll voice, he says, "I'm sure Mr. Potter will spend his holiday considering this list, Mr. Clarke, as it is very well put together. Very well indeed…"

The prefect meeting goes on for another twenty or so minutes, during which the previous term is mainly discussed. After the fiasco concerning Head Boy responsibilities, Potter is much quieter. He probably doesn't want to dig himself another hole. In any case, once those twenty minutes are up and the meeting is over, he nearly trips his way out of the door in his hurry to leave, which Vivian thinks is just wonderful. She does so love it when Potter is uncomfortable. It really makes her day.

The other prefects begin filing out, but just as she's turning to leave, Dumbledore says, "Ah, Miss Blair. I'm sure you're eager to return home for the Christmas festivities."

She pauses, not expecting him to strike up a conversation with her, and hesitantly responds, "…Yeah, I'm really excited." It's a lie, sort of, or perhaps just a morbid exaggeration. She's not that excited. No more than usual, really, which isn't saying a lot.

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully and murmurs, "We always have such a wonderful feast on Christmas day. Word must have gotten around to the house elves that I am partial to butterscotch, because they always serve it with dessert…" He stares off into space for a moment as if imagining the sweet taste of his favorite treat, and then blinks and looks back at her. He adds, "Enough of that, though. I wish you a very good holiday, Miss Blair, and I shall see you at the start of the next term."

Vivian, despite thinking that he's acting quite odd, simply responds, "Thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nods and walks to the door. He's halfway out of it when he suddenly turns back, catches her eye, and says, "I hear that Godric's Hollow is lovely this time of year."

Then he winks at her behind his half-moon spectacles and disappears, vanishing into the corridor before Vivian can rightfully ask what the hell he's on about. (Or, as the cynical side of her brain wonders, what the hell he's _on.)_

Shaking off his more than cryptic final words, Vivian heads out into the corridor as well, though there is no sign of the potentially barmy Headmaster. A few of the Hufflepuff prefects are just rounding the far corner on their way to their common room, and the subtle sound of their voices register in her mind, but that's about it.

Godric's Hollow? Why would she ever want to go _there?_ Why, it's in the middle of _nowhere,_ surrounded by farmland and cows; a tiny wizarding community that's practically cut off from the rest of the world. Dumbledore must finally be going out of his mind.

Vivian shakes her head and turns towards the dungeons, and she doesn't think about Godric's Hollow again…

Not for a while, anyway.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express is bustling, but Vivian hardly notices. She's in the last car where the seventh year Slytherins have taken residence, and her nose is shoved into one of her 'dictionaries' – Vol. V, to be precise.

'_Ah!' cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feeling, 'if I could but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes a last look at his wife and children, and watches the boat that he has sent them off in, as long as it is in sight, and then turns away and says, "God knows whether we ever meet again!" _

The rolling Scottish countryside is as beautiful as ever, with its hills and landscapes; its wild tawny air and winter chill. Vivian hardly notices it though. She's read Persuasion too many times to count, but it is her favorite book, and as always, she is quite happy to lose herself to the familiar prose.

'_And then, if I could convey to you the glow of his soul when he does see them again; when, coming back after a twelvemonth's absence perhaps, and obliged to put into another port, he calculates how soon it be possible to get them there, pretending to deceive himself, and saying, "They cannot be here till such a day," but all the while hoping for them twelve hours sooner, and seeing them arrive at last, as if Heaven had given them wings, by many hours sooner still!'_

It takes several hours to cross through the highlands, and by the time the train pulls into King's Cross, it's late afternoon and the sun is already beginning to sink into its downward slope. The days are short now; darkness falls hard.

'_If I could explain to you all this, and all that a man can bear and do, and glorifies to do for the sake of these treasures of his existence! I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!' _

When they pull into the station, Vivian's father is waiting to collect her on the platform. Her trunk is under her bed at Hogwarts, so she enters into the crowd without issue, carrying only a fine dragon skin leather satchel over her shoulder that is now holding her book and several other belongings. She'd made sure to look presentable that morning, knowing that her father finds appearances to be important. Her favorite cloak, of a dark hunter green wool, is pinned beneath her chin with a sterling silver brooch. She's not wearing much in the way of make-up, but she rarely ever does. Just a bit of taupe colored eyeshadow and some mascara. Her fine-boned features need little else.

In truth, her father doesn't really need to pick her up, seeing as she had learned how to apparate back in sixth year. As she's seventeen now, she's officially qualified to do magic outside of Hogwarts, and could find her way home by herself just fine. Her father has always picked her up, though, and he is a man of habit. Of course, he has other reasons to be there – mainly for appearances sake. He does take such things quite seriously.

She sees him waiting for her on the other end of the platform. It's always easy to pick him out from the crowd. Her father has a certain aura about him that makes him naturally stand out no matter where he is, and it certainly helps, in this case, that his reputation precedes him. Other parents tend to give him plenty of space, whether because they're aware of who he is or simply because his countenance makes them uncomfortable. Either way, in his expensive clothing and tailored black cloak, his carefully groomed dark brown hair and his passively haughty expression, he demands attention.

"Vivian," he greets when she's within speaking distance. He doesn't offer her a smile or any further greeting, but she doesn't expect one.

"Father," she returns, and falls silent.

Still, despite the silence, it isn't an uncomfortable or awkward one. This is her father, after all, and even though she's been somewhat wary after reading her mother's recent letter, his presence is still a source of serene familiarity for her. She's accustomed to his quiet, demanding aura. If he were any different, then he wouldn't be Lukas Blair.

"Your mother is waiting. We have several things to speak to you about," he tells her in his usual tone. It's slightly haughty, though it almost always is; slightly cold, though that isn't altogether unusual; slightly scornful, though not as scornful as it would be were he addressing anyone besides his daughter.

Vivian nods and pulls her dragon skin bag higher up her shoulder. "She said that things at the manor are very different these days."

Her words convey a subtle desire for more information – a warning, perhaps, so that she knows a little bit more about these changes before she walks blindly into them – but it is unmet. Her father surely must hear that conveyance, but he doesn't respond to it in a way that she'd like. Instead, he just holds out his arm and says, "As I said, your mother is waiting."

Vivian nods. Arguing or demanding information would be counterproductive to her cause. She's learned that by now. Her father has an obstinacy about him that is impossible to cross. He likes when things go according to his own plans, and at the first sign of them deviating from said plans, he puts a firm and hasty end to it. Overall, Vivian doesn't mind that much. She is somewhat wary, but she can't imagine that these so-called changes are very important. Surely, they won't impact her life very much. She's only going to be at home for two weeks, after all, and then she'll be back at Hogwarts to finish up the year. Whatever her mother had been talking about in her letter will have a fleeting effect on her – as like a snowflake fluttering to earth, mixing in with others of its kind before turning to slush on the ground.

That is what she presumes, at least.

So Vivian reaches out to grasp his arm and waits for him to apparate, turning her head to face the platform and watching, for several more seconds, as her classmates receive warm hugs from their parents and fretting mothers lean down to kiss their children's faces with overwhelming affection. And within the course of those final few seconds, her eyes clash into thunder grey.

Oh. But he's looking at her, as he stands with what must be Potter's mother and father. Mrs. Potter has her arm around his shoulders as she speaks to her son. How strange that he's there – looking at _her_.

She doesn't have time to sneer at him or arrange her features into one of haughty supremacy. In those handful of seconds before her father apparates, she has no time at all. It slips through her fingers like water and vanishes into smoke, curling past her body into the sky and drifting away on a breeze. And she's dragged into a memory as she stands there with her hand grasping onto her father's tailored cloak, breathing in his expensive cologne, waiting in his imposing shadow. She has just enough time to be reminded of a warm hand on her waist and warm breath on her cheek and warm words saying –

_You look very good in blue…_

Against her better judgement, her eyes lock onto his, and those _things_ happen again – the shivers, the shortness of breath – Merlin, what is _wrong_ with her all of the sudden – ?

Then that handful of time passes, as it always does, and she is dragged into the blackness that apparition brings. She puts down her lapse in judgement as another one of those aggravating side-effects and forces the memory away into some dark and unvisited part of her mind, and when she opens her eyes again all she can see is the snowy landscape of the Blair estate, unfurling out for her perusal.

And –

Though she does not know it, and won't know it for some time yet, those side-effects that she is experiencing are also being had by someone else. Someone who, once she disappears, turns back to Mrs. Potter and greets her properly, swooping in to land a playfully loud kiss on her cheek and to reach forward to greet Mr. Potter. And if the shivers and the breathlessness is noticed by this person, then he hardly gives it another thought as James launches into an eager speech about holiday plans and Christmas traditions.

'_God forbid that I should undervalue the warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow-creatures. I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by woman. No, I believe you capable of everything great and good.'_

Well, of course Vivian isn't nearly as timid as Anne, or as benevolent, and certainly not as hopeful. But perhaps, one day, she will find the strength in timidity; the honor in benevolence; the dignity in hopefulness. Perhaps, like the tender wings of a butterfly opening for the first time, she will rise up and transform.


	27. Acta eruditorum

**Chapter Twenty Seven | Acta eruditorum **

**[Contributions to a cause]**

The Blair manor is situated in a remote and rural area of the countryside, surrounded for miles by rolling fields and picturesque farmland. Once you are on the premise, it seems to be completely cut off from society at large, but this isn't true. It is close enough to London that, if she wanted to, Vivian could use her broomstick to fly into the city. Not that she would, of course. Her mother is always saying that broomsticks aren't a proper mode of transportation for young ladies of importance, and the fact that Vivian is even allowed on the Slytherin Quidditch team is only because her father had been a part of it when he went to school. As the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Lukas Blair, this gives her more leeway than some pureblood daughters of her status, but she has no doubt that if she had a brother, any of the privileges she has thus far experienced would have been passed on to him.

In any case, the seeming remoteness of her home has always been something that Vivian has appreciated. The lands around her house offer a certain panoramic magnificence that makes her feel as though she is not even in England at all, but rather somewhere deep in the throes of some foreign place where the air shimmers with magic. She's always felt an instant sense of relief whenever she'd come home for holiday breaks in past years. In the words of the most esteemed Jane Austen, "There's nothing like staying at home for real comfort."

And it is – comfortable, that is. Vivian loves it here. She loves the winding hallways and the not-so secret passages and the hint of wilderness to the air. She loves when the house elves make a large breakfast and her family sits down together in the dining room, with its wide windows and pleasant view. She loves romping down the forest paths and following the quiet babble of the stream that cuts through the property, or venturing into the fields behind the house to sit under her favorite oak tree, a good book in her lap.

Of course, she won't do much of that during these next two weeks. It's much too cold and snowy to escape to the forest for any worthwhile period of time, and though she could perhaps use a warming spell or two since she has officially come of age, her mind isn't presently dreaming of the woods or the stream or the oak tree. No, she is a bit preoccupied with wondering what her parents want to speak to her about, and why the manor looks so…uncharacteristically dark.

Oh, but it isn't dark in a prevailingly apparent way, like Heathcliff's somber home in Wuthering Heights, or ominously grandiose like the faux-gothic atmosphere of dear Mr. Tilney's Northanger Abbey. There isn't a shadow hanging over the house as if it has been noticeably transformed, or even any tangible hint that any alteration has been made to its occupants at all. And yet – it's the strangest thing, really – Vivian feels a tendril of something tickle the back of her mind as she follows her father down the cobblestone path that leads to the ornate front doors. She wouldn't go so far as to say that it is intuition or foreknowledge, for she thinks that such things are too fanciful to be absolute, but neither can she disregard the sensation in its entirety. It is too strong a murmur; too insistent an impression.

Once they step inside, the sensation becomes almost overwhelming. Everything looks the same, on the surface. The foyer is as grand as ever, with its portraits and displays of wealth speckled throughout. The crystal chandelier glistens from the sunlight that streams in from the high vaulted windows, reflecting glimmers of light onto the white marble floor, as if the whole of it has been sprinkled with specks of fairy-magic. The old world ambiance of the place is, perhaps to some, strangely buoyant. There are no oppressive signs of Slytherin in its décor, despite the fact that the Blair family and all of its ancestors have come from that house. Instead, with its light wood furniture and serene color scheme, the manor could have been the home of anyone, from any upstanding circle.

Yet – something feels off, and it doesn't take very long for Vivian to figure out what it is.

"The favored child returns to her familial home at last," a voice drones from the doors that lead further into the manor. The voice could just barely be described as sarcastic, but then again, Vivian knows it well enough to claim that it almost always is.

"Bellatrix," she says, surprised. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her father sending the woman a firm glance, but she doesn't turn to look at him. Instead, she lifts her gaze and locks it with the heavy-lidded stare that is currently appraising her from across the room.

Bellatrix Lestrange looks just the same as when Vivian had last seen her, at the end of summer affair that was held at the Malfoy's estate back in August. The main purpose of the soiree had been to officially announce Narcissa's engagement to the Malfoy heir, and as such, all of her relatives had been present. Anyone who is anyone had been there, as a matter of fact. The last time they'd seen each other, Bellatrix had been wearing a deep crimson gown, but now she is swathed from head to foot in black.

"Hello, love," Bellatrix greets, spinning her mouth into an offhanded smile that doesn't look entirely genuine. Vivian hardly bats an eye at that, though. She knows Bellatrix well enough to know that such a greeting is entirely normal for her and isn't necessarily an indication of whether she likes you or not. Bellatrix is temperamental. Unpredictable, too, which is probably something she's quite proud of.

"What are you doing here?" Vivian wonders. It would be quite out of the ordinary for Bellatrix Lestrange to wander around the Blair manor without reason, after all. Her family isn't _that_ close to hers. Sure, Vivian might be schoolmates with Narcissa, but even they aren't that close to warrant inviting each other over their houses for extended stays. There's simply no need to when they usually see each other for gatherings and parties often enough.

Bellatrix appears as though she's quite happy that Vivian had asked, and opens her mouth to proudly declare, "To deliver a message, of course. Rod had prior plans at the Ministry today and I – "

"Come Vivian," her father abruptly interrupts, reaching out to take his daughter's arm. He casts Bellatrix a haughty look that's made all the haughtier by the warning that flashes through his eyes, and says, "Your mother is waiting in the study." Then, as he leads Vivian forward, he adds, "You should return before you are missed, Bellatrix."

The words are just offhanded enough to make the woman bristle, but she dares not offer retort within Lukas Blair's own home, and merely watches the pair of them walk off with a glowering expression. Vivian turns her head at the last minute to catch her eye again, a question blazing through them, but Bellatrix only smirks at her as if she's inwardly crowing with glee to know something that she doesn't.

It's clear that there is more to the situation than meets the eye. As Vivian and her father walk past the drawing room, she hears several voices inside, speaking in quiet tones. Bellatrix is clearly not the only one who is here, though the reason for this is too confusing for Vivian to figure out at the moment. Still, she can't shake the murky feeling that festers in her gut, telling her that there is something quite amiss at the Blair house and that she would be smart to tread carefully. She glances up at her father as they pass the room, searching his profile for some indication of what she ought to expect, but finds only an emotionless mask shrouding his expression. It isn't out of character for him, but it doesn't do anything to assuage the feeling that is broiling within her.

Lukas Blair's study is several corridors down, located on the eastern side of the house and overlooking the hills that roll on for miles. It's a richly decorated room, though almost totalitarian in atmosphere. The main feature of the space is the magnificent desk that occupies about a quarter of the small room, currently laden with paperwork. An ornate rug covers the cherry wood floor, and a fire crackles in the hearth of the impressively ornate fireplace, but Vivian's favorite part of the room are the tall bookshelves that rise all the way up to the ceiling and span nearly all the walls save for one.

She inherited her love of books from her father. It is perhaps the only thing that they have in common, but that is as far as the similarities go. Lukas Blair's private collection is not one that she often peruses, mainly because most of the texts are about dark magic and artifacts. Besides the fact that Vivian isn't all that interested in such things, she prefers reading fiction, which is really just as well. Her father is very particular about his book collection. He would probably be pleased if she took more of an interest in it and would most likely allow her to read the books, but he is very ornery about how she ought to handle them.

In any case, not much has changed in the study. Everything is still in its precise location. The only immediate difference is the figure of her mother, who is standing by the only window in the room, leaning against the sill as she gazes out at the terrain beyond it. When Vivian steps inside the study, Isobel Blair turns and allows a smile to curve over her normally stoic expression.

"Vivian, darling," she says, and steps towards her. At once, Vivian is pulled into her arms and the familiar scent of her mother's rose perfume nearly overwhelms her with childhood memory. Isobel Blair is not the warmest creature to ever exist – not by a long shot – but when it all comes down to it, the love between mother and daughter is not fabricated. Stretched sometimes, perhaps, but certainly there all the same.

"How was the train ride?" her mother asks, and bustles Vivian over to the chair in front of her father's desk. She tuts about her form for a moment, fixing the collar of Vivian's cloak and taking her satchel to set it on the floor by the desk. This maternal side of Isobel Blair does not often make an appearance, but she pulls it out on moments such as these as if to make it silently clear that she does, in fact, have a heart.

As Vivian informs her mother that yes, the train ride was fine and gives her a quick update of her exams and the final week of classes, her father closes the door of the study and walks over to his desk, sitting down gracefully. He shifts through the papers with one ear turned towards his daughter, half listening to the conversation occurring in front of him. He seems a bit preoccupied.

"Why is Bellatrix here?" Vivian asks once she's placated her mother. She's expecting a more thorough interrogation later, perhaps over dinner, regarding her prefect position and such things. For now, though, there are more important things to speak of.

She doesn't miss the glance that her parents exchange upon her inquiry. It would be hard not to see how their eyes briefly meet, as if they are silently communicating to each other over Vivian's head. Her mother remains where she is beside her, one hand on the back of the chair and the other curved into the fabric at her waist, but Vivian can detect the smallest of changes in the room. A certain stiffness takes hold. It is almost bracing before it precipitates into something resembling reluctant authenticity.

Her father catches Vivian eye and firmly says, "As she said, she is here to deliver a message."

It's such a bafflingly concise response that Vivian feels a small spark of frustration blaze through her.

"And what about the others?" she asks, figuring that her parents wouldn't be upset at her questioning. She was promised an explanation, after all.

Another glance is exchanged above her head. She doesn't miss that, either.

Her father puts down the papers he's been riffling through and gives her his undivided attention. "Your mother told you in her letter that I've recently acquired a new position, Vivian. Unfortunately, my work at Gringotts keeps me busy during the day, so I made the decision to do what I can to contribute to the cause. I've given my new affiliates permission to use the house for meetings and such. You won't see them often."

Now Vivian isn't stupid, nor is she naïve. The contents of her mother's letter that had so baffled her are now, suddenly, laid bare for her in all their truth, and she doesn't quite know what to think of it all. A queasy feeling roils through her stomach. A new position that requires him to make contributions to the cause? Surely, he can be speaking of only one thing.

A stifling sort of silence falls upon the room, but it is quickly broken by her mother. Her smile looks forced when she says, "They won't bother you when they are here, Vivian. You'll hardly even notice them at all."

She knows that this is said to make her feel better about these foreign strangers being welcomed into her own house, but it doesn't. Still, like a good pureblood daughter, Vivian erases her reluctance from her expression and straightens her posture. Pretenses. Lies. Apparently, her holidays will be made up of such things, for she certainly cannot admit to the real reason why she is so reluctant and displeased with this news. Her parents probably assume that it's merely because Vivian is accustomed to spending the holidays with just her parents; that it's odd and uncomfortable to have these strangers in her space, hanging around the familiar rooms of her youth and tainting the house with their presence. But that isn't the reason, not entirely.

Vivian will look back upon this moment some time from now and wonder if she should have said something to her parents; something that might make them rethink their new alliance. It will all be trifling conjecture on her part, of course, because she knows even now that nothing she can say will make any difference. Even if they do agree with her to some extent, and do not want to be as closely allied with the Dark Lord as they are apparently becoming, Lukas Blair is far too proud to admit defeat in any sense of the word. He's already committed both himself and his home and he will not falter now.

"Now, let's speak about nicer things!" her mother declares, and moves over to where her father is sitting to peer over his shoulder. The sudden absence of her figure beside her is a strange thing.

Her father nods. "Ah, yes. We'll be attending a dinner at the Lestrange house in a few days – "

Suddenly, the door of the study opens, and a head pokes inside. Lukas Blair's words are promptly cut off before he can finish his sentence, and all three occupants of the room raise their heads to look at Wispy, one of their house elves. The small creature knows well enough that interrupting its masters in the study is something rather irregular, but her message is one that requires immediate attention.

"What is it?" her father impatiently wonders, looking none too happy for the interruption. The house elves aren't allowed in his study when he is occupying it and this is a breach of that protocol.

Wispy knows that well enough, which is why she looks even more timid than usual as she nervously croaks, "The guests have taken liberties of venturing into the upper halls, master. You told Wispy to tell you – "

Now Vivian wouldn't say that one of her father's traits is patience. He is not an even-tempered sort of man. That said, he likes his rules, and when somebody breaks said rules, he sees it as a personal slight against his character. The news that these newcomers have done exactly that does not please him overmuch. His eyes flash with annoyance and Wispy immediately falls silent, anxiously turning her eyes down to study the ornate rug. Her fingers twist together in front of her small frame, awaiting orders.

But the orders don't come. Instead, her father heaves out an irritable sigh and stands up, apparently deciding to take matters into his own hands. This is not surprising to her, of course. Any perceived injustice against Lukas Blair is met with an equal amount of vengeance, and he has no qualms in taking it out on those who he deems responsible for the slight.

"We will discuss this after dinner," is all he says, before sweeping out of the room. Wispy quickly moves aside and is impatiently barked at to return to her other duties. Just before the door closes, the house elf is seen scurrying down the long corridor that leads to the terrace at the back of the house, and the rose gardens behind that. The creature's usual responsibilities include tending to said roses, which have been bewitched to bloom even in the middle of winter; a gift to Isobel some years prior.

Speaking of the matriarch, her mother looks somewhat nervous when Vivian turns to look at her. She sweeps that expression from her face immediately, of course, but the barest glimpse of it can still be detected behind her unflinching façade. She rearranges her countenance and smiles at her daughter, but it is bereft of the motherly warmth that it had possessed when Vivian had first arrived. Now, it resembles the usual smiles that Isobel Blair graces her with. That is, a little too formal to be described as affectionate.

They are back on even terrain, then.

"Why don't you head up to your room," her mother suggests. "Dinner will be served in an hour and I'm sure you'll want to refresh yourself. Dress nicely. Our guests will be eating with us."

Vivian hesitates for a moment, looking like she wants to argue, but one firm look from her mother is enough to make her sigh and nod obediently. She'd rather hear the rest of the news, but she knows better than to pester her. She'd inherited her love of books from her father, but her stubbornness had come directly from her mother.

The traipse back to her room is without incident. Her father must have already dealt with the apparent trespassers, for she doesn't run into anyone as she takes the western staircase up to her room. She passes her parents' chambers on the way, but doesn't linger to see if her father is within the closed door or if he's still downstairs.

When she arrives at her room and tosses her satchel onto her bed, the space looks just the same as ever. The walls are an untouched shade of light blue, and there is one large bookcase to the right of the door. On the other side of it stands her vanity and dresser, and on the same wall as her bed are several windows that overlook the small forest. Having never been one for decorating, there are only a few memorabilia to show off anything of note in her life: a Slytherin banner she'd snatched from the common room back in fourth year, a Quidditch metal that she'd won back in sixth year, the broomstick that she'd used before her parents had gifted her with her new Silver Arrow as a reward for making prefect, and a few other house-related odds and ends that hadn't been worth bringing with her to Hogwarts. Other than those few articles, one would not even be able to tell that this is the room of a pureblood Slytherin.

Well, sort of. Even though she isn't one for obvious displays of wealth, it's clear that the furniture is all very expensive. Her bedspread is made of silk, and there are several crystal lamps positioned here and there throughout the space. Still, though, it isn't nearly as showy as some of the other rooms in the manor.

She takes some time unpacking her bag, setting some of her books on her bedside table and unclasping her cloak. She peruses her closet for a suitable outfit to wear to dinner, but just settles for some simple yet elegant silvery robes and tosses them on her bed for later. She has no idea what one is supposed to wear to a dinner full of Death-Eaters. She supposes it will probably be similar to all the other dinner parties she's been to. These 'affiliates' are probably people that she already knows, considering how Bellatrix is involved.

She turns out to be correct in that assumption, because an hour later when she trails downstairs to the main dining room on the ground floor, she does indeed see many familiar faces.

Some of them, it seems, are only here for the evening. Lucius's father, Abraxas Malfoy, is in attendance, though his wife and their son are notably absent. The Bulstrodes and the Fawleys are present, as are the Notts and the Yaxleys and several other people. Many of the wives seem to be missing, but that isn't necessarily surprising seeing as it is the first night of Christmas break for those with children. Said children are also absent, for which Vivian is rather grateful for, though after some time spent listening to the conversations happening around her, she hears that this will not be the case for the entirety of break. The thought of having to spend any amount of time with Adrian Mulciber or his cronies is not a pleasant one.

"You're a pretty picture tonight, dearie," Bellatrix drawls at her when Vivian arrives. Her mother had been quick to step over to her side, though Vivian isn't sure if her presence is meant to be some form of protection or something else entirely. Either way, she's half relieved that her mother is there and half annoyed, because she keeps whispering at her to stand up straighter and smile more. Ah, though she does create a buffer against Bellatrix Lestrange, so there's that.

Bellatrix and Vivian have never really gotten along. That is to say that they've never been at each other's throats, but their personalities are a bit too different for them to become proper friends. That, and the fact that Bellatrix is some years older than Vivian, has never given them an incentive to become closer even though they see each other at gatherings all the time.

"Er…thanks," Vivian tells the woman, though it's mainly just to be polite.

Bellatrix sends her a leering smile before moving on. Her eyes drift to Isobel Blair as she passes her, but no other words are exchanged, and Bellatrix just heads over to where her husband Rodolphus is standing. He must have finished up his work at the Ministry.

Dinner is a sordid affair, but Vivian is able to keep to herself for most of it. Since she's the only one her age, the adults mainly talk amongst themselves and ignore her entirely, which she's just as happy for. She sits towards the head of the table by her father, sandwiched between Edgard Nott and Opherius Yaxley, who are both bragging about their sons to each other. Said sons had graduated from Hogwarts several years ago and have apparently already garnered the attention of the Dark Lord. From what it sounds like, they'd joined up over the summer and are 'working very hard' already. Vivian tries not to listen, but it's rather difficult to ignore them when they can't seem to stop trying to one-up each other.

To be quite honest, though, the entire affair is rather typical of a pureblood gathering. She's been to many of the sort over the course her life, and there's little out of the ordinary. The only thing that is different is the conversation.

"It was very good of you to let out your home like this, Lukas," Mr. Malfoy is saying. Lucius's father is a stoic sort of man, and even the compliments he offers leaves much to be desired. Still, her father takes it into stride. He is much the same sort, after all, and has always gotten along fairly well with the Malfoy patriarch.

"Most of our younger recruits are eager to be given orders. Lucius is very impatient," Malfoy drawls, as if this should be seen as some kind of honor.

Her father hums around his glass of elderflower wine. "Well he _is_ your son, after all."

Abraxas smirks. "Indeed."

Several amused smiles are exchanged upon this remark, but all Vivian can feel is a lurch of unease at the thought of what sort of life Lucius Malfoy has entangled himself in. Surely not the same sort of actions that these older men have no doubt gone through with? The thought leads into others, too precarious to consider in current company and yet too impossible not to for the same reason. How many of the people sitting around her table have become murderers since joining the Dark Lord? How many of them have performed heinous crimes in the name of their so-called justice?

She is eating dinner with killers.

Before now, she had only suspected that her father was interested in joining Voldemort. It had been a mere notion to be entertained in spare moments of time, almost an impossibility despite the sense of it. She hadn't wanted to believe that it could be true, and so like every truth that is too unappealing to consider, she had pushed it from her mind. Now, she wishes she had thought more about it. Perhaps it would have prepared her. Perhaps she wouldn't feel so blindsided now, as she sits at a table full of murderers and tries to stomach her food.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to come home for Christmas and enjoy the holiday with her parents like every other year. Yes, some traditions aren't exactly to her liking – the Malfoy's New Year's Eve ball is never something she looks forward to – but everything else should have been just the same. The house elves should be scurrying about hanging garlands and decorating the tree and the only thing that could possibly be a cause for dismay is if it doesn't snow on Christmas Eve. That should be her primary concern. Not this.

As she picks at her dinner, she can't help but wonder what Mauve and her father are up to this very minute. Has her father taken out the ornaments? Are they listening to Christmas songs and sipping cocoa and decorating the tree that her father apparently cuts down just before Mauve arrives? Are they chatting about what sort of plans they have for the break while they wait for the cookies to be done baking?

Well in any case, Vivian can say what they _aren't_ doing: they're not entertaining a house full of Death Eaters, listening to them gleefully discuss the Dark Lord's latest attack and laughing about how many muggles were killed in it.

"And what about your lovely heiress, Lukas?" Bellatrix suddenly asks from the other side of the table. It would, perhaps, be more apt to describe it as a demand – and a poorly hidden one. Bellatrix raises her eyes to smirk over at Vivian and drawls, "Should we be expecting another recruit before the holidays are done with?"

The whole table pauses to wait for her father's response. It's a contemplative sort of pause; the sort where someone wonders at a person's ability and strength. They all turn to glance at Vivian as if they're sizing her up, trying to ascertain whether she would make for a good recruit or not. It isn't unheard of for women to join the ranks – Bellatrix has made it clear enough that she's not only a Death Eater, but a respected one at that. Still, Vivian feels distinctly uncomfortable to be so carefully considered for such a role.

Her father doesn't appear to care much for Bellatrix's question. He casts a glance at his daughter, raises an eyebrow at her, and only says, "We'll see," before changing the subject. Everyone turns their attention elsewhere, apparently unconcerned with her father's cryptic and offhanded response, but Bellatrix doesn't look away from Vivian for a long moment.

It's her eyes – they flicker with dark amusement, as if she can see Vivian's discomfort as clear as day despite the stoic expression she's wearing. Her mouth curves up into a malicious sort of smirk, made all the more so by the crimson lipstick she's wearing. She's looking at Vivian as if she finds the girl to be a challenge. An unwilling prodigy.

Yes, it's her eyes. Vivian can't get them out of her mind even later, when dinner is over and she retreats to the safety of her room. Every time she blinks, she sees Bellatrix's smirking countenance, the acceptance of a challenge burning in her gaze. She can't seem to escape it even after the manor has quieted down for the evening and the upper floors are absent of any other person save her parents and the odd house elf.

It's there behind her eyelids when she tries to find solace in sleep, haunting her like wayward ghosts intent on drawing her into the gust of a storm. But where that storm will take her, and how she will sail through it – now that is a matter to discuss at another time, when Vivian Blair is more prepared to deal with the consequences of her Fate.

* * *

The Potters' house is just the same as Sirius remembers it to be, when he had taken his leave of it at the end of the summer. Now, the streets of Godric's Hollow are icy, and there aren't that many people out and about because of the snowstorm that's supposed to arrive that evening. Sirius's world is quiet in a way it rarely is, as he walks towards the large house that stands on the edge of the village. It's a bit removed from the rest of the town, and somewhat larger than many of the other houses. Blood traitor status aside, the Potters are still a pureblood family with money, and this is reflected in the property that unfurls in front of them the closer they get.

It's an impressive home, with large windows and ornate furnishings, but what Sirius loves most about it is that it's so different from the one he was born into. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black (cue his sarcasm) is an eternally morbid and depressing place, full of dark artifacts and ominous décor. One only has to walk as far as the main staircase to see the signs of this. The mounted heads of previous house elves certainly make an impression – and not for the better, in Sirius's opinion. Anyway, by comparison, the Potters' house is as different from his ancestral home as the moon is from the sun, and he likes it that way.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter are also a breath of fresh air, of course.

"Dinner's in an hour!" Mrs. Potter shouts as her biological and adopted sons rowdily make for the stairs the first moment they get. She sounds a bit exasperated by the way they elbow each other all the way to the second floor, their competitive streak as natural as if they were blood brothers. She turns her exasperated eyes to her husband, but Mr. Potter only laughs at her and swoops down to kiss her cheek before he heads to the living room, well accustomed to the antics of the two boys.

Yes, everything is very different here. Christmases of the past were dour and bleak, but here they are joyful things, warm and pleasant.

"Remus and Peter might be able to come over at the end of the week," James says as he throws himself onto his bed. His black hair is, once again, sticking up in every direction and his glasses are askew, but James doesn't bother fixing either. He just kicks his legs out and releases a happy sigh, no doubt pleased to be home. Sirius takes a seat at his desk and leans back, also happy to be here.

"D'you think Pete will be able to wrangle himself away from his mum?" he wonders, recalling how possessive Mrs. Pettigrew is. The poor bloke is practically suffocated whenever he goes home, but if Sirius is being honest, he's always felt a bit jealous of Peter's stories about how his mum never stops cooking for him and is always coming round to his room with tea even when he doesn't ask for it. He's always had a hard time trying to imagine having a mother who cares so deeply for her son. His own mother hadn't cared for him half as much.

James shrugs, still face-planted against his mattress. His voice is muffled when he says, "Dunno, but Rem said he'll come. Ah, and there's the matter of the full moon, but we have time to plan for that."

Right. The full moon isn't for another week or so. Remus's mum and dad always help him get through it when he's at home, but the other Marauders usually go over to assist. They've been doing it since fifth year, when they all officially became animagi and were able to convince Remus's parents to let them help their friend during his holiday transformations.

"I was thinking I'd get him a bucket-load of chocolate for Christmas this year," Sirius says as he leans back. He hasn't gotten any Christmas shopping done and, like most members of the male population, has no intention of going out until the last possible moment. Shopping isn't really something he cares for.

James snorts and lifts his head to raise an eyebrow. "You got him chocolate last year. You're starting to get predictable, Padfoot."

Sirius grumbles a bit and responds, "He _likes_ chocolate."

"He also likes anything from Zonko's, books, and those nice raven quills they sell at Flourish and Blots."

"Well excuse me if I'm not good at getting people presents. Just for that, I think I'll go outside and get you a rock," Sirius smirks, only for James to sulkily throw his pillow at him in retribution.

"Oi! Don't you dare!" he challenges, and laughs when his pillow hits Sirius in the face.

"I'll even put a nice bow on it," Sirius snickers, throwing the pillow back. "Complete with a card. '_Dear Prongs, this rock reminded me of your stone cold heart. Love Padfoot.'"_

James glowers at him, but his eyes are twinkling a little too merrily for him to be truly angry.

"So what are you gonna get Blair, then?" he asks, voice mischievous and wearing his best 'revenge expression'.

Sirius shoots him a weird look and barks, "Blair? Why would _I_ get _her_ a Christmas present? Have you finally lost your mind?"

James just drawls, "I just figured you'd spend the holidays writing more of your poems. Start the next term with a bang, you know?"

Sirius stares at him. James stares back. And then…

"That's actually kind of brilliant!" Sirius exclaims, and jumps out of the chair. He begins to pace, snickering to himself as he thinks about all the potential letters he could write. After all, now that he's figured out who this Jane Austen lady is, at long last, he has even more ammunition on her. Continuing the prank over the holidays is only a natural thing to do, really. Love has no time limits, right? Er – well, _love poems_ don't, in any case.

James raises an eyebrow and sits up. Sirius's reaction to his suggestion is a bit more eager than he'd expected.

"You think so?" he slowly wonders, watching his friend pace back and forth in front of his bookshelf. Honestly, this whole prank is getting a little out of hand, really, but he can't help but prod Sirius with it nonetheless. He half agrees with Remus that it's a bit cruel, but the prankster side of him is wholeheartedly engaged with the idea. Besides, it's _Vivian Blair._

Right. Vivian Blair. The elitist pureblood Slytherin who has no idea how evil her housemates are…

"_Evil Slytherins…yeah. Sounds about right."_

James blinks, and frowns, and wonders for a split second if that is true after all…but then he just shakes the thought off and returns to watching his friend pace and come up with verses, and –

If he helps Sirius plan out the next love poem, it's only because he likes a good prank just like the next Marauder. It has nothing to do with hating Vivian Blair. He's got a feeling that hating Vivian isn't Sirius's primary goal either, but it's just a feeling, and anyway, what could possibly go wrong?

But Fate shakes its head, and laughs.


	28. Maleficium

**Chapter Twenty Eight | Maleficium **

**[An evil deed, a crime]**

"I'd like you to attend tonight's meeting with me, Vivian," Lukas Blair had said, earlier that day. "I expect you to remain silent unless someone speaks to you. You'll watch and listen – nothing more," he had informed her, while giving her one of his infamously haughty looks. She had said nothing in response, only nodded and went back to eating her breakfast, but she wishes she had made more of an effort. She'd do just about anything to be up in her room right now, reading Oliver Twist and writing another letter to Gavin to playfully complain about how she prefers Austen. Instead, she's trapped in the first-floor drawing room, and the current company is a bit more encompassing than she'd expected.

Abraxas Malfoy is droning on about how Lucius has been helping him at the Ministry. Apparently, this excuse is more genuine than Narcissa had expressed in her letters, for Lucius is quick to go into an unnecessary amount of detail regarding the responsibilities his father has managed to procure for him. It obviously won't be a long-term job, seeing as Christmas break is only two weeks long and he'll be returning to school with the rest of them, but he seems eager for the opportunity to get a real job there after he graduates. According to his father, this is all but set in stone.

"Magical Law Enforcement," Lucius boasts as he sips at a tumbler of their finest wine. The house elves had been ordered to bring out the good stuff, along with their most expensive Romanian crystal glasses. Her father is clearly hoping to impress his guests tonight, not that this is of any surprise. He's practically obsessed with making sure that the other pureblood families respect him.

In addition to Lucius, many of Vivian's other classmates are in attendance tonight. None of which she's very pleased about, of course. The Rosiers, the Averys, and the Mulcibers are all here, as well as several other families that Vivian knows well enough. The Notts, the Lestranges, the Montagues, the Rowles, the Zabinis…

" – be able to assist with the creation of new laws, when I graduate," Lucius proudly explains to their classmates. His father stands nearby with half an ear turned towards his son, but he's mostly been swept up in conversation with Edwin Lestrange. Edwin's son Rabastan is beside him. His other son, Rodolphus, is across the room with Bellatrix, whose biting laugh can be heard even from where Vivian stands beside her father.

Lukas Blair hasn't let his daughter out of his sight so far, not that Vivian had expected him to. She doubts it's due to concern on his part, and assumes instead that he merely wants to ensure that she conducts herself properly in present company. She doesn't know why he feels the need to keep so close an eye on her when she's never made a scene at one of their gatherings before. Then again, those other gatherings were different. They were dinner parties and celebrations. This is much different.

Despite the fact that many familiar families have come to the Blair house tonight, it's clear enough from the atmosphere alone that things are different this time around. They aren't gathering to sit down to a meal or to congratulate one of their own for something they've done. There is a more serious quality to the air than there ever has been before. Vivian isn't blind to it, nor is she blind to the slight tension in everyone's forms, as if they are being more careful than usual. The foundations between these families have been altered just so. They are still acquaintances and, in some cases, friends, but something has changed in the undercurrents of their conversation. A certain solemnity drives through each word, each posture, each look. It is painfully apparent that something more is due to happen tonight. Something that goes well beyond catching up with one another.

"Hello, Mr. Blair. Vivian," Adrian Mulciber says, suddenly appearing at Vivian's side.

Her father glances over at him and gives him a nod. Vivian just glowers – until her father notices, of course, and clears his throat. She receives the message well enough and forces out a painfully polite, "…Adrian."

He smirks at her.

"Won't you come join us? Lucius is finally finished prattling on about his new 'responsibilities'," he says, as if he thinks that this should be an incentive for her. It is, obviously, but not enough of one to make her willing to accept his invitation. Unfortunately, her father wouldn't allow her to be so rude as to outright refuse, so she just clamps her mouth shut lest she accidentally says something she shouldn't, and sends him a rueful look as if she's hoping that he'll say he's only joking. He doesn't. Instead, Mulciber just raises his eyebrows expectantly, looking rather smug and annoying amused, and waits.

When she takes too long to formulate a response, her father sighs irritably and says, "She'd love to join you, Adrian." He turns to give her one of his looks – the kind that tells her that she'd be best to not cause trouble for him. Vivian tries not to look annoyed about it. It's difficult, though, especially when her father leans closer to quietly add, "Remember what I told you, Vivian."

Ah yes. Keep silent unless spoken to. Observe and listen. She could tack on a ton of other, silent orders, too: don't disrespect anyone, don't bring dishonor to the family name, don't go against my wishes. Merlin, it's exhausting.

"Yes father, I know," she mutters. He sends her another of his looks, clearly not appreciating her undertone of defiance, but she's already trudging off with Mulciber.

Joining up with Lucius, Evan, and Theodore is bad enough, seeing as she has to see them in school, but this is even worse because they aren't alone. Bellatrix and her husband, Rodolphus, seem to be weaving some sort of story that's captured all of their attentions completely. It isn't until she gets closer to them that Vivian can hear what they're talking about, and immediately wishes that she didn't have to.

" – oh, those were rogue attacks, completely unrelated to His command. But the recent attack on London? You should've seen the looks on the muggles' faces. Took the Ministry _days_ to straighten it all out," Rodolphus is saying.

Lucius hums and murmurs, "That's why I'm doing Ministry work, you know. My father thinks my position there will help His cause. Have more people on the inside."

Bellatrix smirks darkly. "I've heard that he has more plans for you, Malfoy. I'm sure you'll hear of them before the year is through. Oh – Vivian. Come to join our discussion? What will the Dark Lord want from _you,_ I wonder?"

Vivian snorts. Bellatrix doesn't scare her, as mental as she is.

"I don't think he'll want anything from me. I don't have anything to offer," she replies in a neutral voice, immediately falling back upon the emotionless demeanor that she uses whenever she doesn't know how to conduct herself.

At her side, Adrian shoots her a look and drawls, "I wouldn't be too sure, Blair. The Dark Lord needs as many willing soldiers as he can get."

Bellatrix lets out one of her mad laughs and adds, "Your _service_ is enough. Not all of us can offer Him real talent, I suppose." The insult is administered with a narrowed smirk.

Vivian glowers at her. "I guess it doesn't take much talent to attack harmless muggles in the street."

Bellatrix visibly prickles at this. Her eyes flash. She looks annoyed, now, which is probably not a good sign but Vivian can't bring herself to feel bad about it. Instead, she feels a sense of triumph at having gotten the better of her.

Rodolphus raises an eyebrow at her and drawls, "Talent or no, they are His orders. Bellatrix knows better than to deny Him." He exchanges a look with his wife, who's bitter annoyance quickly turns into a simpering smirk.

"Yes, and I also happen to know that you're not _completely_ useless, Vivian," Bellatrix adds, lifting her chin and staring her down. The words are said with a flair of insight that makes Vivian pause, confused for a moment as to what Bella is talking about. She makes it known, however, when she murmurs, "Experimental spells, was it? Impressive. Not many children would be foolhardy enough to dabble with unpredictable magic."

Vivian narrows her eyes. Being called a child and a fool certainly isn't getting Bellatrix any favors, but she especially doesn't appreciate having this particular hobby of hers called out upon like this. After all, it's only something she does in her spare time. It isn't as if any of her experiments have been overly successful. Most of the spells she comes up with are simply charms to assist with silly matters, like summoning multiple orbs to light your way, or turning common metals into silver. They are, for the most part, impractical and frivolous. Nothing that would garner any real attention.

When she says this aloud, though, Bellatrix just laughs. "I wouldn't be so quick to write yourself off, darling," she drawls. "You'll have a chance to prove yourself soon enough."

Vivian just stares at her, and scoffs quietly to herself beneath her breath. Bellatrix is a proud creature who always needs to have the last word. Vivian isn't very fond of the way the woman swathes herself in pretenses and presumes so much of others. The sharp, challenging gleam in her eye makes her seem as though she knows everything there is to know about Vivian, which is both disconcerting and annoying all at once. What's also disconcerting is the way Bellatrix's smile seems to glimmer with dark excitement, as if this opportunity to prove herself will come sooner than expected.

Evan smirks and looks over at Bellatrix. "Are we going, then?"

Bella laughs. "Patience, love. The meeting hasn't started yet."

These vague words make Vivian understandably confused. She raises an eyebrow at Bellatrix and wonders, "Aren't you staying for the meeting? I would have thought you'd want to be a part of everything."

But Bellatrix only simpers at her again and drawls, "Oh trust me, darling: I _will_ be a part of everything."

This only makes Vivian more confused, but her confusion is cleared some time later when the meeting begins. However, much to her surprise, she is not to attend said meeting. Rather than follow the adults into the dining room, where they'll be continuing their discussion in a more formal setting, Adrian ends up taking her elbow and leading her to the couch. He hasn't left her side once tonight, which is frustrating. When he guides her over to where the others are lounging about in front of the fireplace, she is rightfully annoyed about it.

"I thought we were joining the adults," she hisses to him, glancing over her shoulder. She catches sight of her father taking his leave. As he closes the door behind him, his eyes meet hers for a split second. They are completely unreadable, as usual. It's impossible to decipher what gathers within his brown gaze.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mulciber snorts. "Our night is going to be much more engaging than sitting around a table listening to our fathers prattle on about the Dark Lord's plans. Now sit down." His expression is innocent enough, but his eyes glimmer in a way that makes her immediately wary.

With a clear of her throat, she says, "I think I'll stand, thanks."

Her stubbornness only seems to make his amusement grow.

"Adrian tells us that you've been having some trouble deciding where your loyalties lie. We're here to help," Bellatrix drawls when she catches Vivian's eye, and smirks widely at her.

"Help with what, exactly?" Vivian wonders. Her voice is cool and detached, but the rest of her is buzzing with something resembling fear. This whole situation is beginning to frighten her a little bit, if she's being honest.

Bellatrix seems even more amused with Vivian's question. Her smirk widens. "Did Adrian not tell you the plan for tonight?"

Vivian frowns over at Adrian and mutters, "No…what's the plan, Adrian?" She says his name with emphasis, just challenging enough to make Mulciber raise an eyebrow at her.

"It was going to be a surprise, Bella," he responds, staring at Vivian as he does. He meets her challenging look with one of his own and smirks, "Let's get moving, then. I'd like to be back before the party ends."

Everyone stands up and moves to the fireplace, where a bowl of floo powder is sitting on the mantlepiece. Rabastan, who has trailed after his brother rather than join the older men, grabs Vivian's shoulder and leads her forward. He sends her a smirk when she catches his eye, but says nothing as Rosier and Avery head through the grate, disappearing in the green flames that the floo power summon.

Borgin and Burkes seems to be the address that they're all heading off to, which is odd because that's in –

"Hurry up, then. We don't have all night," Rabastan murmurs, and thrusts the bowl of floo powder at her. She hesitates as she reaches for a handful.

Knockturn Alley. Why are they going there? She doesn't understand, but with Rabastan's hand on her lower back and the floo powder in front of her, Vivian forces herself to grab a handful and throw it in the flames. They immediately burst into the familiar emerald flames, but Vivian hesitates. She glances over her shoulder at Rabastan, who raises a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Where are we going?" she asks, though the question comes out breathy and anxious.

Rabastan snorts at her and pushes her towards the fireplace. "You ask far too many questions, Blair. Hurry up."

And even though she knows it's a bad idea – a terrible one, really – she doesn't think there's a way for her to get out of it now.

In a shaky voice, she announces, "Borgin and Burkes!", and steps through to whatever fate is waiting for her on the other side.

What a fate it is.

* * *

Vivian Blair had never seen death before this night. Her life thus far has been a sheltered thing, made from foundations that she hadn't realized were so flimsy. She hadn't realized a lot of things, before that moment. Perhaps that's why, as she walks through the gently falling snow that drifts down into Knockturn Alley, she feels as though the world is hazy, and her mind blurred.

Rabastan Lestrange smells like firewhiskey. Maybe that's because he's spilled some from the flask that he's holding as he strolls down the darkened street. This place is creepy even during the daytime, but at night, it's even worse. Vivian's never been this far into it before and she hurries to catch up to the others lest she catch the attention of someone less reputable. She thinks it's a little amusing, that she'd rather take Rabastan Lestrange over anyone else right now, but at least his face is somewhat familiar to her.

"Hurry up, you two!" Bellatrix hisses at them from the top of the street, where she's waiting with Rosier, Lucius, Avery, Rodolphus, and Mulciber. As Rabastan joins them, he takes another generous sip from his flask and mutters something at Bellatrix that sounds like an insult. Bellatrix hardly bats an eye at him though, and just tells him to shut up.

Vivian wants to ask what they're doing here, but she doesn't want to draw attention to herself. She's been gripping her wand so tightly that her fingers are starting to hurt, and along with the harsh bite of the cold winter air and the roughened voices of her companions, it's not the nicest combination. She stays silent and peers over her shoulder at the darkness of the alleyway they had just come from. Borgin and Burkes isn't the only place still open, even tonight. It must be nearly eight o'clock by now, but the alley is still busier than she expects it to be.

So is Diagon Alley, when they head into it.

"Put your hood up, you idiot," Adrian hisses at her, and reaches over to wrangle with the hood of the cloak he had thrust at her before they'd left Borgin and Burkes. The attire smells musty and scratches against her skin, but it's better than freezing to death, so Vivian hadn't complained too much. She does complain, though, when Mulciber stops to roughly drag the hood over her head, pulling it into her face.

"I can barely see," she mutters to him, and pushes it back a bit so that it no longer hangs halfway down her nose.

He immediately snatches it back into place and growls, "Leave it. Unless, of course, you want to be recognized."

The words make her confusion worsen. She's got absolutely no idea what is going on.

"Would you please explain to me what you're planning?" she demands. Her voice is a little louder than intended, and it makes the others shoot dark glares at her. She shuts up a bit at that, but can't wrangle down her annoyance as easily.

Rabastan scoffs at her and, to his brother, says, "She's in for a nice surprise, isn't she?"

Rodolphus just smirks in response and doesn't answer. No, Vivian's answer doesn't come for another few minutes.

She probably should have expected it, considering how strange the whole situation is. Seeing as it's the Christmas holidays, Diagon Alley still has some last minute shoppers running to and fro, and some of the shops haven't closed down yet. Many of them have, but there are enough people walking around. They give them strange looks as they pass, but her companions don't linger. They sweep forward down the streets full of those last-minute shoppers with intent, and Vivian scrambles to follow them.

"Now let's see…" Bellatrix murmurs as they walk around the corner and head down the busier part of Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron is at the top of the street, and the more popular shops can be found in this area. It's a bit busier down here, with more people finishing up their shopping. A few people are stumbling around on their way home. Some shopkeepers are turning their signs over to 'closed'.

"Ah. This is it," Bellatrix drawls, and reaches for her wand. They've stopped in front of a shop that's already been closed down. The lights are dark inside, and a cheerful 'Happy Christmas' sign is posted to the window on the door. Some Christmas lights have been hung around the shop, flickering with magic. It's makes for a pretty sight, until Bellatrix roughly sweeps her wand to the side and the whole thing goes up in flames.

Vivian jerks her head up to watch as the large windows shatter. Destruction immediately follows, but Bellatrix doesn't wait around to admire her handiwork. She ducks into the shop without a word, and Vivian is promptly pushed inside by Mulciber as he shoves her forward. She only has time to briefly glance over her shoulder at the horrified expressions being sent their way by shopkeepers and customers before her attention is diverted to the inside of the shop.

"What is going on here?" an older man demands as he appears at the top of the stairs. He must live above his shop, because he's wearing a dressing gown and slippers, which have been hastily donned. He's still tying off his robe when he begins to hobble down the stairs, but he doesn't get very far.

"Grab him," Bellatrix breezily says, and then ducks back out into the streets. Vivian throws herself against the wall as Rodolphus grabs the man's arm and forcefully pulls him down the stairs and out of the shop.

"This is crazy!" Vivian hisses, grabbing Mulciber's arm as he goes to pass her. "We're going to get caught!"

But he only laughs and reaches forward to tug her hood down again. "This is all for you, Vivian. Remember that."

She swallows tightly and watches as he continues out the door, into the madness currently taking place outside.

Is this how it always is, whenever the Death Eaters organize one of their attacks? Is there always such mayhem? She can't even think around it all. Her companions don't seem to be thinking either, as they strut down the street and leave fire in their wake. Windows explode, smoke begins to billow into the night sky, and pandemonium ensues. As they throw the man down in the center of the street, the entire alley falls prey to it.

"Please – please," the man cries. His pleas are not heard.

Vivian has never seen an Unforgivable Curse in action before, but when Rabastan casts _Crucio_ on him, she has a front row seat. It's – horrifying. His screams tear through the night, ripping it to shreds. His entire body bends back, spine curling as he writhes on the ground in the dirt and snow. If this is what agony sounds like, then Vivian doesn't want to hear it, but even as she covers her ears and looks away, it's of little use. His screams are too loud, and her eyes betray her. She can't help but stare.

Bellatrix is laughing at the scene. It's a maddening, unhinged sort of laugh, as if some part of her has truly gone crazy. She throws her head back and cackles loudly – until she catches sight of Vivian standing there with her mouth hanging open and her face as pale as the snow, and her amusement takes a new turn.

Before she knows it, Vivian is being tugged closer. Bellatrix curls her fingers into her shoulders and, in her ear, hisses, "Do it, Vivian. _Crucio him."_

The others watch in amusement as Vivian shakes like a leaf in Bellatrix's hands.

"Show your loyalty to the cause," Bellatrix whispers tauntingly. "Do it now."

Self-preservation. It is Vivian Blair's biggest trait. She is loyal to herself. She always, always puts herself first. Why should tonight be any different? Beneath the judgmental eyes of her companions, she has very little choice.

She swallows, meets Bellatrix's gaze, and raises her wand. Bellatrix grins at her. Vivian turns to face the man. He's turned his head to stare at her, and her eyes slide into his. The pain behind his gaze makes something within her freeze up, as if she is blanketed over by a sheet of ice that stretches across her organs like snapping frost. Is it pity? Guilt? She doesn't know. What she does know is that she doesn't want to hurt him.

When she halfheartedly says, "Crucio," nothing happens. The man doesn't twist in pain. The spell does not even come. She's relieved for half a second, until Bellatrix steps closer to her, searching her face for signs of unease.

"You've got to mean it," Bellatrix tells her, and reaches forward to clasp her fingers around Vivian's. She says nothing about the way her hand shakes. Vivian doesn't know if it's a good thing or not.

"Say it again with intent. Imagine the pain you're summoning. Bring it into focus, love," Bellatrix coos in her ear. Her voice is light and airy like a bird's, but the words she speaks are foul things, made of smoke and ash.

Vivian bites the inside of her cheek so hard that she tastes blood.

"Crucio," she says again, louder this time. Again, nothing happens, and Bellatrix seems to be growing impatient with her.

"With feeling, I said," she snaps, her voice abruptly hardening. Vivian takes a rattled breath and Bellatrix sneers, "Let me do it. Useless girl."

She shoves Vivian out of the way and within moments, the man is screaming again, a pain like no other scorching through him. Vivian stumbles back against the shop on the other side of the street and watches with horror as his fingers dig into the cobblestones with so much force that they begin to bleed. She feels sick. Even after the _Crucio_ curse is lifted, his screams ring in her ears like an echoing nightmare, shifting against her mind like tumultuous waves.

"Disgusting Mudblood," she hears one of her companions mutter. She thinks it's Rosier, but her mind is spinning too much for her to truly know for sure. All she can think about is the pain she has just witnessed – the havoc of the night as it spirals away from her in a relentlessly unending lurch. Time seems to be put on pause. Everything seems to disappear but for the blast of green light that abruptly shoots from Bellatrix's wand.

Her mind is spinning so fervently that Vivian doesn't realize it until after it's already happened, but when the man lets out his final gasp and falls back upon the pavement, she understands. Tonight, death is in the air. It tears through the spaces of her, forcing its way through the emptiness that she hadn't known existed within her until now. Suddenly it seems to live there, in those blank expanses inside her limbs and her organs and her heart. Death lives beneath her skin and behind her eyes. She stares at its form and shivers against the chill of its grasp, wondering at its suddenness. At its swift arrival and swifter departure.

Is this what death is? It seems too easy. Too effortless.

Around her, people are screaming. She vaguely realizes that her companions are moving on, stepping down the street to inflict more havoc upon the rest of the alley. She hears shrieks and loud popping sounds as people hurry to disapparate lest they get caught in the crossfire, but it sounds muddy and vague to her. It's almost as if she is underwater. Her breath comes quickly but it feels like an age before her lungs fill with oxygen. Mild panic thunders through her like a disease. She doesn't realize she's gasping until Adrian appears at her side and snaps her out of it.

"Don't fall behind," he tells her, and pushes her forward to join the others. The others – who are slashing their wands, starting fires and breaking windows, stupefying anyone who tries to fend them off, throwing bodies about like broken dolls.

Diagon Alley is in shambles and Vivian is in the middle of it, hardly conscious of anything but for the fire and the smoke and the screams and – Death.

And then, suddenly, Rabastan raises his wand to the sky and shouts, "Morsmordre!", and when Vivian looks up, she sees a gathering of lightning and grey storm clouds as they roll over each other to form a symbol that is becoming increasingly familiar to her.

A skull with a snake wrapped around it, slithering through the bony mouth and around the sunken eyes, flashing with emerald light as it flickers ominously overhead.

Then, suddenly, as if the conjuration is the cause, there are about a dozen loud pops as witches and wizards appear in the street around them, and Vivian is caught in a new kind of chaos as Aurors appear on the scene. Adrian pulls her against him as he fires a spell at one of them, laughing to himself when it catches the wizard in the shoulder and sends him flying back into the side of a building with a loud crash. They are outnumbered, but it doesn't seem to have an effect on their fighting spirit. It is as if the Dark Mark above them unfurls their courage and steels their hearts. They fight back with menacing excitement, as if it is what they live for. They are utterly devoted to it.

Bellatrix laughs madly as she throws a _Crucio_ curse at one them, though it is blocked by a powerful ward before it can hit its mark. She looks back at the rest of them and meets Vivian's eye with a sickening grin before turning her eyes to the sky as if to admire the sight of the Dark Mark that lurches over their heads. For a split second, her eyes are soft and ardent, impassioned in a way that seems incredibly misplaced – but then it all vanishes when Bellatrix suddenly turns on the spot and disapparates, just as a spell comes hurtling towards her from the wizard she had meant to _Crucio_.

Her abrupt disappearance seems to make the rest of them vanish as well. One by one, her companions turn and disapparate away. Vivian doesn't think she could apparate even if she tried. Her mind is still spinning, her heart lurching uneasily in her chest. Fortunately, Adrian still has her tucked into his side. He clenches her against him and drags her with him into the darkness of apparition, and when she next opens her eyes, Diagon Alley is gone.

She lands hard on the frozen ground outside of the Blair manor, gasping and heaving, feeling as though she is going to vomit. Battling the nausea down takes a fortitude she doesn't know she has, but somehow she knows that if she gives into the desire, her companions will not think very highly of her. So instead she chokes the feeling back and digs her nails into the cold grass and pushes herself up. For the first time since she'd put this disgusting cloak on, she's thankful for the low hood, if only because it hides her pale, shaky expression from the others.

" – Spectacular!" Bellatrix is saying, laughing uproariously as she leans over to give Rodolphus a kiss on the cheek. Her husband is a quiet man of few words, which he proves to them all a moment later when he turns Bellatrix's head and kisses her properly. A little too properly, if you ask Vivian.

Rosier wrinkles his nose at them. "Ugh! You're both ruining the fun we've just had – stop sucking face already!"

Vivian straightens herself out and swallows tightly as Bellatrix and Rodolphus ignore him. They wrap their arms around each other with a vengeance. She doesn't understand how killing and torturing can have this kind of effect on them. They look about ready to tear each other's clothes off. And besides that – 'ruining the fun'? How can Evan say that? She doesn't think anything about tonight has been fun. Not the meeting and certainly not their traipse through Diagon Alley.

Suddenly, an arm is slung around her shoulders, and Vivian turns her head to see Adrian smirking widely down at her.

"What d'you say, love? Feel like giving me a smooch too?" he asks, tapping his cheek with his finger. His move is familiar territory for her, sort of. If nothing else, it makes Vivian remember how much she loathes him.

Shoving him off her with renewed strength, Vivian scoffs, "As if."

Her denial only makes Adrian smirk wider, if possible. He doesn't seem at all concerned with it, and just snickers.

"You weren't much help tonight, Blair," Rabastan drawls, crossing his arms. He peers at her from beneath furrowed brows, eyes flashing with a strange sort of knowledge that makes her quite uncomfortable. There's a heavy helping of judgement in his voice. He sounds thoroughly unimpressed.

To her surprise, it's Avery who jumps to her defense. Well, he doesn't jump so much as shrug, but it's something at least. He raises an eyebrow and says, "It was her first time. Can't expect too much from her yet."

She's relieved for a moment, but the relief doesn't last for very long.

"Next time she'll be more useful," Adrian declares, squeezing her shoulder as if he's a proud parent who has taken her under his wing. He gives her a sidelong glance and says in a quieter voice, "She'll have plenty of opportunities to prove herself in the coming months…"

And just like that, the sickness returns. Vivian clamps her mouth shut. She doesn't say a single word. She doesn't have to – Bellatrix has words enough as she pulls herself away from Rodolphus to say, "The Dark Lord has a claim to her. Her soul belongs to him."

"We all belong to Him," Rodolphus adds, and smirk down at his beloved. Bellatrix smirks right back at him and the conversation shifts to other things. But Vivian – she's reeling from these words even as they begin to make their way across the grounds to the manor, and she hardly hears what the others are saying.

She hears nothing but that man's screams as he lays writhing on the cobblestone street; the sound of breaking glass and shouting, of dark spells being thrown about and of Rabastan conjuring the Dark Mark above them. All she hears is her heart ricocheting through her chest, beating out a tune of Death.

And, in that moment, as she hurries to catch up to the others and shivers against the bite of the winter air, a thought unfurls through her mind like a flag waving from atop a lonely hill:

There is no one in this world who has a claim to her soul.

* * *

"You're supposed to _block_ the quaffle, Rem, not let it go through the hoop!"

"I've already told you, James, I'm not good at Quidditch!"

"But still, this is a _simple concept – "_

"Simple for you maybe – you're the captain!"

Sirius raises an eyebrow at his arguing friends and elbows Peter playfully in the side. "Wanna go back inside? Mrs. Potter made gingerbread today."

Peter, who has been flailing around on his broom for the better part of the hour, nods so eagerly that his head looks like it might fall off. Honestly, it had been James's idea to have a friendly Quidditch match in the backyard. If it was up to Sirius, he'd still be sleeping right now. Sure, it's after noon, but what's the point of the holidays if you can't sleep as much as you want? In any case, they've been freezing their arses off all morning while James zips around shouting orders at them all as if he thinks he's on the Hogwarts pitch conducting one of his merciless practices, and it had gotten old very quickly.

"C'mon before they notice," Peter hisses, grabbing Sirius's arm and pulling him quickly towards the house. He tosses his broomstick onto the snowy grass and nearly skips forward, no doubt because of the promise of Mrs. Potter's famous gingerbread, which she makes every Christmas, bless her. Sirius honestly thinks that her cooking is ten times better than anything he's ever eaten, Hogwarts meals included. Peter is clearly in agreement.

"Er, James – "

"Quiet Remus, I'm trying to teach you how to properly block. Merlin knows you need help if we're going to beat the other two."

"But they're leaving – "

"Pay attention! I'm only gonna show you this once!"

Peter and Sirius dissolve into snickers as they glance over their shoulders to see a very impassioned James trying to show Remus a complicated maneuver. Remus is a little too busy glowering at their retreating figures to pay much attention to James, who has thus far not noticed that half of the group is sneaking off. He's completely engaged in Quidditch, which doesn't surprise anyone. The only thing besides Quidditch that James Potter is utterly obsessed with is Lily Evans, and since she isn't here…

"Now when the quaffle comes towards you, you've got to – "

"James, don't you think we should just go inside? It's freezing out here."

"You should be grateful that I'm trying to teach you, Remus – "

Sirius and Peter continue snickering to themselves all the way to the door, which they disappear behind as soon as possible. The immediate warmth that enfolds around them is way better than the winter air from which they've just come, and they're quick to pull their boots and coats off before tramping into the kitchen. Mrs. Potter looks up at their arrival, busily icing a chocolate cake. Her Christmastime baking crazes happen to be a thing of legend.

"Back already, boys?" she smiles, watching as they clamor onto the chairs at the counter. "I've got hot cocoa prepared. Want a cup?"

"You're an angel, Mrs. Potter," Sirius proclaims, ruffling his hair out. His nose is reddened from the cold, and the boyish grin he sends Mrs. Potter makes her chuckle.

It's true – this woman really is an angel. She's welcomed him into her home with open arms, not even questioning it. She's practically become his adopted mother over the years, especially after he had left home the summer before sixth year. She's more a mum to him that his own.

"Do you have whipped cream too?" Peter eagerly asks as Mrs. Potter pours two mugs of her homemade hot chocolate.

Sirius nudges him and says, "No need for whipped cream, Pete. This stuff is literally the best hot cocoa you'll ever have."

Mrs. Potter laughs. As she sets the mugs down in front of them, she reaches over to kiss his cheek affectionately. "Sometimes I think you appreciate me more than my own son, Sirius."

"Oi! That's not true mum!" James suddenly hollers from the back door, obviously overhearing the words. Remus is rolling his eyes as he trudges into the kitchen, but it's clear that he isn't that annoyed. When he sees Mrs. Potter, he breaks out into a grin. She laughs again and goes to retrieve two more mugs from the cabinet.

Sirius turns in his chair to catch Remus's eye with a smirk. "Had fun out there, Remus? I'll bet you're a star keeper now that James got his hands on you."

Remus huffs at him as he takes the chair beside him and mutters, "Shut it, Sirius. If you had a heart, you would've saved me from the torment."

Sirius snorts. "And get in the way of your moment with James? Never!"

Remus elbows him, but cracks a smile.

"Oooh hot cocoa?" James says as he blusters into the kitchen, still trying to wrangle his coat off. When he catches sight of his three friends innocently sitting at the counter, he sniffs, "You ought to be grateful that my mum loves you lot. Honestly, running off like that. It's rude, I tell you. Why, Remus had no idea what was going on!"

He sweeps into the last remaining chair and sends his mum a winning smile when she sets a mug of hot cocoa down in front of him. As he takes a sip, Remus sighs and mumbles, "Yup. It's not as if I saw you two leave and tried to tell James, who _didn't listen to a word I said."_

James wrinkles his nose at him and declares, "With a little more practice, Remus, I'll make a Keeper out of you."

Sirius grins and swings an arm over the back of Remus's chair. "He's already a keeper, James!"

Remus cringes at this and bemoans, "Please for the love of Merlin, no Quidditch pick-up lines!"

"But they're the _best_ kind of pick-up line," Sirius responds.

Peter snorts. "When has a Quidditch pick-up line ever worked for you, Padfoot?"

Sirius just huffs, "Please. As if I need lines to get girls, Wormtail."

"So never, then," Remus inputs in his 'I'm-an-innocent-prefect-who-can-do-no-wrong' voice.

Sirius glowers at him, but before he can respond, Mrs. Potter chirps up with a cheerful, "Sirius darling, you don't need pick-up lines to woo a girl. Your much too handsome as it is."

Sirius grins smugly at his friends and nods in agreement, but James just groans, "Mum, don't _say_ things like that. It'll make his head explode. Besides, _I'm_ your favorite son."

Mrs. Potter immediately starts cooing at him as she sweeps around the counter to plant a big kiss on his forehead. In a patronizingly sweet voice, she says, "You are definitely, _absolutely_ my favorite, James dear."

James pouts. "Sirius, stop stealing my mum's love!"

Sirius just smirks and brushes his hair out of his eyes with that smug expression. "I can't help it if she likes me better, James."

"Mum! Love me more!"

"I love you _so much,_ Jamesie," she coos again.

"But she still loves me better than you."

"Oi!"


	29. Cane peius et angue

**Chapter Twenty Nine | Cane peius et angue **

**[Worse than a dog or a snake]**

_Clarke,_

_I'm not surprised that this Fagin character is your favorite. His propensity for pickpocketing is impressive, as is the way he manipulates an entire group of useless children to do his bidding. If he was a wizard, he'd most definitely be a Slytherin. I'm glad to see that you're becoming more amenable to the attributes of my house. For a nerdy do-gooder Ravenclaw, you still have much to learn, but you're getting there._

_I haven't had much time for reading since returning home for break. Unfortunately, my father has involved himself in more work than usual and it has become difficult to find time for myself. I hope you're having a more enjoyable holiday. I also hope that you've taken my advice to heart and that you're actually reading Sense and Sensibility. True, there aren't any characters like Dodger or Fagin (a shame, really – the literary world could use more of those types), but Colonel Brandon is morally upstanding enough to appeal to the altruistic parts of you that we are trying to work on._

_Anyway, I really hope you're making an effort to keep your nerdy tendencies in check. All prefect related activities are off-limits._

_Vivian_

* * *

_Dear Vivian, _

_First of all, I never said that Fagin was my favorite character, only that he's smart about how he operates (though by the end of the story, his character goes through a bit of a transformation – I'll let you read that for yourself). Second of all, being a do-gooder, as you've put it, is much better than earning a living off of pickpocketing and theft. You're probably right about Fagin being a Slytherin however, so I'll let you have that one. Anyway, third of all, I'm astonished that you think I won't be doing any prefect related planning over the holidays. This is the perfect time to sit down and iron out the upcoming prefect schedules. It's nice and quiet at my place because my older brother has moved out now, and I have to make sure that I've got some back-up plans figured out when James inevitably falls through._

_I'm sorry that you don't have much time for reading. If you do end up finishing Oliver Twist over the holidays, send me an owl and I'll pick out another book for you. As for my own reading, I'm about halfway through Sense and Sensibility, so stop your fussing. Us Ravenclaws aren't so easily intimidated! I do have to admit that I like Colonel Brandon's character, especially when comparing him to Willoughby's. The two are about as different as can be, though I could naturally do without Austen's matchmaking. That's why I like Dickens. He doesn't bother himself with flights of fancy. _

_I'm sure you'll have words about that and I'm prepared to defend myself against them._

_Sincerely, _

_Gavin_

* * *

_Clarke,_

_Seriously? 'Flights of fancy'? As if men don't have flights of fancy themselves! Tell me that you've never daydreamed about a girl before and maybe I'll believe it. Or maybe I won't, seeing as I'm fairly certain that the only daydreams you've ever had focus on doing homework._

_Alright, you may defend yourself now._

_You're probably right about Potter falling through. I can't imagine him ever being responsible. I still don't understand why Dumbledore appointed him Head Boy to begin with. If he did any of the work you gave him, I'll be shocked. (By the way, that list you wrote was pretty impressive – did I mention that?) _

_I doubt I'll finish reading Oliver Twist over break, seeing as we're already halfway through it, but I'll keep you updated of course. I've just arrived at the part where Bill Sikes is introduced. I'll admit that Dickens knows how to craft a good story. If you finish Sense and Sensibility, I'll send you Northanger Abbey. It's probably my second favorite (after Persuasion) because of Mr. Tilney. Concerning flights of fancy, no one could be blamed when it comes to a man like that._

_Anyway this is getting weird._

_Vivian_

* * *

_Dear Vivian,_

_Excuse me! I do not daydream about homework! What do you take me for? Actually don't answer that, I probably don't want to know. What I do want to know, however, is how you're still able to make fun of me so effectively through a letter. It's slightly admirable and slightly annoying, as usual. _

_As for James, I have a plan for him. Since he so kindly announced that he would be stepping up after break, I am absolutely not going to let him back out of it. As Head Boy, he should be doing more anyhow. I thought we could have a meeting and hold a voting session where we decide what kind of responsibilities we should give him. I've compiled a list, of course, which I'm sure you'll find equally as impressive. _

_Bill Sikes is a great antagonist, as far as they go anyway. His storyline is really dark. It's gets a lot darker as the story continues. (Again, I'll let you read it for yourself.) I'm glad you can at least admit that Dickens is a master. Why do you think I like him so much? I think I might have read Northanger Abbey during primary school (it's a Muggle thing) but I can't recall what it's about. I can't recall who Mr. Tilney is either, but he must be an amazing character to have that effect on you. Vivian, I don't know if you're aware of this, but you don't seem like the daydreaming type either. I can't picture you daydreaming about anything besides hexing someone. (No offense…? Please don't hex me for that.)_

_Sincerely,_

_Gavin_

* * *

_Vivian,_

_Have you heard the news about the London attack? Lucius says he's been busy helping his father with Ministry work, but I have a feeling that it's a lie. Do you think he could have had a role in the attack, or am I just being paranoid? Maybe it doesn't matter either way…I don't know anymore. Anyhow, I'm looking forward to seeing you at the Malfoy's Christmas Eve ball. I'm sure you'll love my gown – even Rosalind wouldn't be able to say anything against it! _

_XO Narcissa_

* * *

_Clarke,_

_What can I say? I have a talent for making fun of you. I think you just make it too easy. I cannot wait to see Potter's reaction to this new list of yours. His previous reaction kept me entertained for days, so this one should be just as good. You know, Clarke, I think you might have a bit of Slytherin in you after all. Your plots of revenge are rather inspiring. I'm sure Potter will try getting out of it nonetheless, but it'll be great fun to witness._

_And don't be daft, I don't daydream about hexing people. Well, I may have daydreamed about hexing Black before, but only because he's such an arsehole and he deserves it. _

_Vivian_

* * *

_Narcissa,_

_The Malfoys were just at my place the other night...I don't think you're being paranoid, Narcissa. I won't say too much in this letter, but there's definitely more going on than meets the eye. See you at the ball._

_Vivian_

* * *

_Hey Blair - _

_Heard some strange rumors. What on earth is going on over at your place? My parents won't tell me anything, but I overheard them talking about recruitment and the Dark Lord the other night when they thought I was in my room. They mentioned your father too, something about having meetings at your estate? I'm going crazy not knowing what's happening. Write back as soon as you can._

_Morrigan_

* * *

_Flint,_

_Things have been really crazy over on my end. The manor is being used as a meeting place or something. I've seen Bellatrix twice now – first, when I arrived home, and then again on Saturday. The other day I even saw that disgusting half breed Fenrir Greyback prowling around the backyard. I can't believe my father would let him hang around here, knowing what he is. Thankfully they aren't here that often, but it's still put a damper on staying home for the holidays. I almost wish I was back at Hogwarts, even with that idiot Dumbledore parading around the place._

_Vivian_

* * *

_Blair,_

_Things have been really weird over on my end too. Narcissa owled me the other day and apparently Lucius has been absent for days now. She doesn't know where he is. He's not responding to any of her letters and his father has spun this story about Lucius interning at the Ministry, but I think that's a load of shite. _

_I can't believe Greyback is roaming around your property – that's foul! I've heard stories about him. Better be careful, Vivian. Anyway, I'll see you soon._

_Morrigan_

* * *

_Dear Vivian,_

_I won't bother repeating what I've already said about Sirius Black, because you'd probably bite my head off, but I stand behind my suspicion. Either way though, if you do hex him in the coming months, I might actually let you get away with it. He has been the bane of my existence for years now, ever since I made prefect in fifth year. Anyway how is Oliver Twist? _

_Sincerely,_

_Gavin_

* * *

_Clarke,_

_You're right, I will bite your head off if you repeat your ridiculous suspicion. I refuse to believe that Black likes me in that way. We're not five-year-old children, though I suppose he certainly acts like it most of the time. You're going to regret putting that down into writing, Clarke. The next time I hex him, I expect you to look the other way. You forget that he's been the bane of my existence too._

_Anyway enough about Sirius Black. Oliver Twist is pretty good. I'm about halfway finished with it. How are you liking Sense and Sensibility?_

_Vivian_

* * *

_Dear Vivian,_

_Noted. I won't mention Black again. I do have to agree with you that he acts like a five-year-old though. But anyway, about Sense and Sensibility…I don't like Willoughby, but then again I suppose you aren't supposed to like him. He's a typical Jane Austen villain. Take that as you will! Other than that, it's not half bad. The plot isn't awful – though I still prefer Dickens. You've got to admit, Vivian, that his plots are way more complex._

_Sincerely,_

_Gavin_

* * *

_Clarke,_

_In a way they are, but it's a whole different technique. And anyhow, there's a reason Austen likes using villains like that – it's because they aren't obvious! Not every villain is outwardly evil. _

_Are you enjoying your holidays so far? It's strange, but I'm actually excited to return to Hogwarts._

_Vivian_

* * *

It's three days before Christmas when news of the attack on Diagon Alley spreads to the little hamlet of Godric's Hollow. The Daily Prophet has been churning out article after article about what they've labeled 'The Christmas Attack'. The morning after it occurs, the front page is full to bursting with information about it, as it's been for the last few days afterwards. Mr. Potter, who has long ago developed a habit of reading the paper during breakfast, sees it first.

"…Darling, look at this," he says to his wife in a solemn voice, who glances over from where she's standing in front of the sink, sweeping her wand here and there to clean up the dishes she'd used to make the omelet her husband and sons are now eating.

"What is it?" James wonders as his mother steps over to read the front page over her husband's shoulder. He watches her face grow several shades paler and frowns. There can only be one explanation to such an expression, and it happens to be one that's been occurring more and more frequently as of late.

Sirius, who is sitting next to Mr. Potter, leans over to read the title of the article. Mr. Potter doesn't do anything to stop him. He'd find out soon enough anyhow. An attack on Diagon Alley, of all places, isn't one that could be kept under wraps for very long.

"**Christmas Attack on Diagon Alley Claims Life of Muggleborn Shopkeeper,"** Sirius reads aloud, and shoots James a look.

James puts his fork down. Suddenly, his mum's cooking isn't nearly as good as it had been a moment before.

Mrs. Potter's hand clenches down around her husband's shoulder. Her fingers grip the fabric of his shirt tightly, fisting into it as her eyes sweep through the article. "Oh…I don't think you two should go to Diagon Alley today after all…" she murmurs, referring to her sons' plans for the afternoon. They were going to do some Christmas shopping for Remus and Peter, having put it off until the last minute as per usual. Diagon Alley is supposed to be a safe place even in these times. The Ministry clearly hadn't expected that it would be targeted like this. Thus far, Voldemort's followers have focused their attention on muggle areas. This is the first orchestrated attack on a wizarding community.

"Where else are we supposed to go?" James complains. "I wanted to go to Sugarplums for Remus – they've got imported chocolates that are filled with all sorts of crazy potions!"

Sirius nods energetically, hoping that Mrs. Potter will change her mind. "Yeah, and the only other half-decent joke shop is all the way in Hogsmeade. I told Pete I'd get him something good this year!"

James's parents exchange looks. Sirius thinks it's strange and wonderful all at once, the way they seem to have an entire conversation just by looking into each other's eyes. To be honest – though he'd never admit it aloud, of course – he's always wanted what Mr. and Mrs. Potter have, ever since the first time he'd snuck over to their house during the summer of third year and saw just how different James's parents are compared to his own. It always struck him as something to marvel at, their close relationship and the even playing field between them. That they have always respected each other even during the hard times is something to look up to.

"I don't know," Mrs. Potter hedges.

Her husband sighs. "I have the week off anyway. Tell you what, boys, you can go as long as you stick with me – no sneaking off."

"And only for an hour," Mrs. Potter adds hastily.

Mr. Potter pauses, then nods. "An hour," he agrees.

It isn't very long – they usually like to idle their time away in the joke shop and stock up for school – but it's something, at least. Besides, they can always go to Zonko's once they return to school. They're good friends with the owner by now. According to him, they're his best customers.

"Deal," James agrees, and digs back into his omelet.

* * *

"You disappeared for a while last night, Vivian. I wanted to introduce you to some acquaintances after the meeting," Isobel Blair says during breakfast the next morning. She catches her daughter's eye over her glass of water and raises an eyebrow. "You look pale, dear. Did you get enough sleep?"

Vivian hums noncommittedly and mutters, "Yeah," even though it's a lie. She didn't get any sleep last night, and the little that she did get was filled with nightmares of that man writhing on the ground. She plays with her food, swirling it around her plate as she adds, "I was hanging out with some of the others," in an equally noncommittal voice.

Her father eyes her from his chair, sweeping his gaze over her face as he sternly asks, "You weren't drinking, were you? You certainly look off this morning."

She nearly rolls her eyes at this assessment, barely managing to keep her features from shifting to annoyance. Drinking – as if. Battling with a hangover would be ten times better than what she's actually struggling with. The memories of last night haunt her every time she blinks. She can barely keep her food down.

"I'm fine," she says shortly, not wanting to talk about it. Her father looks affronted at this, but he doesn't push her. Instead he sends her another stern glance as he takes a bite of toast.

Silence falls around the breakfast table. It isn't unnatural. The Blair family isn't as close-knit as some families are. Isobel and Lukas Blair have never been doting parents, and Vivian is fine with that. Having them dote on her would be weird at this point, after spending her entire life feeling somewhat removed from them.

"Adrian seems to admire you," her father suddenly says. His voice is normal enough – slightly haughty, as per usual – but Vivian feels her entire body freeze at the words. She turns to stare at her father. He raises his eyebrows at her again when she just keeps staring at him, and then impatiently says, "Well? Have you nothing to say?"

Vivian furrows her brow at his tone and slowly hedges, "…Um…not really."

Across the table, her mother simpers. "Oh darling, honestly. Adrian is a fine young man. I think it's wonderful that he's taken a liking to you."

Vivian swallows a mouthful of breakfast and clears her throat, sweeping her eyes over her mother. She is smiling in amusement from across the table, as if she thinks she's got her daughter pegged.

"She's just embarrassed, Lukas," her mother laughs, glancing over at her husband before turning back to Vivian. "You needn't be, dear. Adrian is a fine choice. We had hoped that you would form an attachment with him. It makes everything much easier."

Her father nods, though his face is still set in that stern expression. "Orpheus is rather pleased with the pairing."

Orpheus Mulciber is Adrian's father. Vivian hasn't had much to do with him, of course, but she knows him well enough through her father, who is friends with the man. He's a cold, proud sort of person, and so he naturally fits in quite well with Lukas Blair, who can claim the same attributes.

"…Is he?" Vivian chokes, spluttering a bit at the surprising turn that this conversation has taken. This wasn't supposed to happen – they weren't supposed to come to this conclusion. It's all wrong, but they wouldn't believe her if she tried to set matters straight. That's clear enough from the way her mother is chuckling fondly at her.

"This is more than we could have hoped for," her mother says, sighing out a happy smile. She seems utterly pleased, and it probably has at least a little to do with the fact that she hadn't had to make an effort on her daughter's behalf; Adrian Mulciber is making enough advances for her to just sit back and watch it happen. She certainly won't be putting a stop to it. Marrying into a strong pureblood family is precisely what she's always wanted for her daughter.

Vivian swallows back a wave of bile at the thought of being with Adrian Mulciber, and clears her throat. "…Right. Okay."

Honestly, what is she supposed to say that that?

Her mother chuckles again and stands up. "Now don't forget that we're going to that little get-together on Christmas Eve, Vivian. I was thinking that those ruby dress robes would look stunning on you. Don't you agree, Lukas?"

Her father grunts. This time, it's his turn to sound noncommittal. Isobel Blair _tsks_ at him and hums, "Adrian will be there, dear. I'm sure you'll want to look gorgeous for him!"

Vivian only chokes back her drink and doesn't respond. Thankfully, her father seems to have grown bored with the discussion and is quick to turn the tides of conversation to other topics, and so she is able to leave without it looking like she's running away. But she is. Running, that is. She's breathless when she reaches her room several minutes later, feeling sick to her stomach. Adrian Mulciber? Before, the thought of marrying him had seemed like a silly idea plucked from an idle mind. It contained no substance; no reality. Now, all she can see when she closes her eyes is being by his side, trapped there for eternity as he throws himself into the darkness and pulls her along with him.

She can't marry him. She won't. This isn't some archaic century where women are sold off to the highest bidder. Where they align themselves to men for protection and the comforts of a home. No – she can protect herself. She can create her own home. She doesn't need someone to do it for her.

Usually, in moments like these, when the walls bear down upon her and she feels like she's the only person alive, she would escape to the woods with a book, but she can't do that now. It's too cold outside and her mother would surely be horrified for a young lady of her standing to go traipsing through the snow. Besides all that, she isn't sure if Fenrir Greyback is still prowling around the property, as he's been apt to do ever since he was given leave to stick around. She doesn't want to run into him. Instead, she idles around her room, worrying and pacing and wondering what she ought to do, until she grows so tired of it all that she can't bear another moment of it, and storms out of her room.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron is full to bursting when Vivian arrives a little after 11:30 on Thursday morning. Diagon Alley is still reeling from the attack several nights ago. The place has been fixed up since she had last seen it, but the air is still rife with some lingering darkness that isn't so easily repaired. People hurry along the street, not idling too long. News of the Death Eater attack has put everyone into a mild panic, even now in the light of day. Vivian scoots around a witch carrying a bundle of wrapped gifts in her arms and ducks into the familiar pub on the end of the alley. This place, at least, looks just the same as it ever has.

Convincing her parents to let her make a trip here hadn't been that hard, despite the recent attack. Her father is at Gringotts today, and so she had only really needed to convince her mother. She'd spun some elaborate lie about meeting up with Narcissa to go dress shopping for the annual Christmas Eve Ball that the Malfoys hold every year, and Isobel Blair had hardly thought twice before agreeing to it. Vivian has always been a very independent child, often left to her own devices. Her mother is all the happier for it.

Of course, she doubts her mother would be very happy if she knew what Vivian's real plans were. Going dress shopping with Narcissa is only a cover up. She really just wants to get out of the house, and the last time she had made a trip like this had been last summer, so she figures it's a good time to go. With Christmas right around the corner, Diagon Alley is busy enough so that nobody even notices her.

Vivian has only been inside the Leaky Cauldron a handful of times in the past. Her parents usually take her to nicer establishments when come here. The dusty furnishings and loud chatter is something of a turn off for them, but Vivian doesn't share those sentiments. She rather likes the noise and the atmosphere. It allows her to enter unseen, for the most part. No one gives her a second glance as she makes her way through the dimly lit pub to where the other set of doors are. Muggle London is just beyond – her usual means of venturing out into that strange and different world.

If her parents knew that she was gallivanting around muggles, there would most assuredly be hell to pay. She pauses by the doors that lead into the streets of London, as if she is standing on the brink of the New World, unexplored and relentlessly wild. Below her is a deep valley, tangled with thorns and vines; the untrod path. Behind her, the smooth cadence of familiarity.

And then, heart thudding with excitement, Vivian swings open the door and steps into the wilderness.

Her previous trips into the muggle world have been private and short. She'd never had the time to properly explore it lest her parents wonder where she had gotten off to, and she had always been somewhat reluctant to venture too far in case she got lost. There's also the simple fact that the muggle world is so very _different_ from her own.

The moment she steps out into the street, it's like the entire atmosphere within her body changes. A rush of excitement blasts into her skin, filling her up with an odd mixture of nervousness and adventure. She takes a moment to soak it all in, turning her eyes to the cars that zip past and the strangely clad people that walk around. Vivian takes off down the street, tucking her fingers into her cloak and peering at an older couple as they walk past. The woman casts a strange glance at Vivian's attire. It isn't as if she's got any muggle clothes. Her wardrobe is mainly full of dress robes and cloaks. Today, she's wearing a pair of black trousers and a smart button up shirt, but despite her slightly more casual look, the black cloak that hangs about her figure is enough to make her stand out. No matter – she's grown accustomed to the stares by now. This isn't her first time experiencing the muggle world.

Several streets down, on a lonely intersection that rarely get much traffic, is the scrappy old second-hand shop where she'd initially stumbled upon her adoration for Jane Austen. It isn't much to look at from the outside, with its brick walls and unwashed windows, but inside it is a different story. Shelves line every space available from floor to ceiling, showing off a gorgeous array of books. There are even shelves that line the stairwell going up to the next floor. Most of them are used editions, hardly the newest copies that Vivian would have initially preferred. But there's also something about these well-used books that lend a sentimental energy to the space, as if they are sacred relics of a bygone era, looking for a new home. As Vivian pulls open the sticky door and steps inside, the sight makes her feel quite at ease in a way she hasn't felt since leaving Hogwarts and coming home.

It's a relief, really. She feels free in a way she rarely does. Here in this second-hand bookshop, untouched by the magical world, unknown to her parents, she is someone entirely different.

"Welcome," a woman greets warmly, though not without casting a baffled look at Vivian's cloak. "If you need assistance finding anything, just consult one of our clerks."

Vivian eyes the woman suspiciously, which of course doesn't help the baffled look that is being sent towards her. Well it isn't as if she makes a habit of eyeing muggles like this, of course. It's just that – just because she likes reading Jane Austen novels doesn't mean she understands the strange ways of these people. One can never be too careful.

"Er…thanks," Vivian mutters, and heads towards the stairs the lead to the next floor without bothering to wait for a response. It's probably a bit rude of her but honestly, she doesn't really care.

The Classical Fiction section is on the second floor, and when she reaches it, Vivian falls utterly silent as she searches the shelves. She finds lots of Austen novels, and sees some Charles Dickens books, and lots of other authors that she's never heard of before. After only a few minutes, she's got a small stack in her arms. She could spend hours in here, but unfortunately, she doesn't have all the time in the world. Still, she spends as much of it as she can between those bookshelves, thoroughly enjoying the sliver of peace that they bring.

When at last it's time to leave, Vivian walks out of the shop carrying a brown paper bag. She'd found a few new books that look interesting – one Dickens novel, which she's sure Clarke will be over the moon about, bragging about how he had introduced her to a better author than Austen. She muses over this as she makes her way back towards the Leaky Cauldron, feeling rather amused at the thought. Unfortunately, her amusement doesn't last very long.

"Well well well. Now isn't this a sight."

Vivian is back in Diagon Alley by two o'clock and is actually doing some Christmas shopping when everything falls apart. She's gotten a bit distracted at Amanuensis Quills, where she's peering through the window at the display as she stands on the street outside, but when Adrian Mulciber's voice thunders through the moment, the distraction comes to a swift end.

Vivian stiffens immediately, and turns.

"Fancy seeing you here, Vivian," Mulciber drawls, crossing his arms as he leans against the brick wall by the window. He sweeps his eyes over her, expression composed into a smug smile as he takes her in. There's a certain quality to his eyes that puts her immediately on edge – a possessiveness that flickers through his gaze. She doesn't like it.

Consequences – now those are the very things she had wanted to avoid today. She should have been more careful about hanging around here for too long. She hadn't thought she'd run into any of her housemates in Diagon Alley, especially just after it's been attacked. A stupid assumption to make, on her part. She's not the only one doing Christmas shopping.

"Adrian…" she slowly greets, straightening out as she turns away from the quill shop. All thoughts of buying the lovely raven feather quill being displayed in the window drifts from her mind.

"Any mudblood friends around today?" he wonders, sweeping his eyes around the nearby vicinity as if he's expecting to see Gavin strolling towards them. Honestly. She knows better than to be seen with him in such a busy place. It isn't that she's embarrassed about her burgeoning friendship with the Ravenclaw prefect – it's just that she's already taken enough chances today by lying to her parents about meeting up with Narcissa. She wouldn't push her luck.

Apparently, however, luck is the very thing that she doesn't seem to have.

Mulciber suddenly catches sight of the bag on her arm. He furrows his eyebrows at the unfamiliar name that is printed across it. She immediately tucks the side of it against her leg, hoping that Mulciber's IQ really is as low as she suspects, but when he turns to glance back at her, she reckons that he's smarter than he looks. After all there are no shops lining Diagon Alley with this particular name, and besides that, many of said shops have more colorful marketing. In the wizarding world, isn't out of the ordinary for bags to be enchanted somehow, whether with images of their products or a simpler flashing store name. This one, by contrast, is quite plain. A little too plain, really. Realization shifts through his eyes. It's a realization that quickly makes Vivian's heart plummet. A burst of nausea threatens to keel her over. He knows.

"What is that?" Mulciber demands. His voice is tempestuously dark.

Vivian freezes, and doesn't respond. His eyes lock with hers, face reddening with a fury that she has never seen before, and growls, "Vivian. You didn't."

Battling with the fear that keeps trying to overturn her stomach, Vivian swallows tightly and says, "I didn't what? I have no idea what you're – "

"_You didn't go into muggle London,"_ Mulciber cuts in, his voice shaking with fury.

She freezes again, and this time, her response comes too late.

Before Vivian even knows what's happening, Mulciber is grabbing her arm and pulling her down the street with him, leaving the quill shop behind. Vivian's reaction is to immediately dig her heels in with a harsh, "What are you doing? Let go!", but Mulciber doesn't seem very interested in listening, and just tightens his grip to a bruising finality.

"Let go of me, Adrian," she snarls, trying to tear her arm free. It doesn't work, and Mulciber only seems to grow angrier when she attempts it.

He glares at her from the corner of his eye and scathingly mutters, "You're already in trouble as it is for consorting with muggles, Blair. I'd advise you to keep your mouth shut."

She doesn't know where he's dragging her, but it's clearly away from prying eyes. People glance at them as they pass. It's busy enough for them to be mainly overlooked, though. Vivian tries to wrangle her wrist out of Adrian's grasp, to no avail. He just keeps dragging her along with him, no matter how much she snarls at him to release her. Her words fall on deaf ears. It's only when he pulls her down a side street that is empty but for a stray cat digging around in one of the trash cans at the back of it that he stops.

Before she can get her bearings, Mulciber is twisting her to face him and angrily hissing, "Hanging around with mudbloods and now trips into muggle London? Just what are you trying to pull, Blair?"

Vivian tears herself away from him so roughly that she ends up tripping backwards. Her ankle catches over a loose cobblestone brick, and she barely manages to straighten herself out. She's vaguely aware that people are still glancing over at them from the opening of the small street, but she doesn't really see anything but Mulciber as he towers over her.

"It's my own business," she sneers at him, brushing herself off. She tries to summon some of the haughtiness that her father always manages to give off, but she's afraid that she falls rather short when she sees just how angry Mulciber is getting.

He reaches forward to grab the bag that's still hanging from her arm. She snatches it back, but he's got a good enough grip on it that the whole thing rips in half and her books are strewn about the ground in a hapless mess. She feels something else catch her then – something resembling fury – as Mulciber makes a point of stepping on them as he corners her against the wall.

He grabs her shoulders and pushes her hard against it, fingers digging into her painfully as he fists them in her cloak. His face is inches from hers, full of anger and bitterness.

"I will not marry a blood traitor bitch," he hisses darkly, and thrusts her harder against the wall when she tries to free herself.

"I'm not a blood traitor!" Vivian responds, raising her voice in her anger.

He doesn't look convinced. Deep inside of her heart, neither is Vivian.

"A proper pureblood wouldn't go gallivanting around muggles, buying their filthy books and befriending mudblood scum," he spits, his voice growing louder by the second, until he is downright shouting at her as he presses her into the wall. "You've never been like this before, Vivian. What is going on with you this year? Suddenly you're getting all these ideas in your head. I won't stand for it!"

"You don't have to!" she snaps back. She shouldn't have. It only makes Mulciber's eyes glow with that fury – so much of it that it boils over.

He raises a hand. It comes down against the side of her face with such force that her entire head turns, and she probably would have fallen had his grip on her not been so tight. A small gasp leaves her throat as pain smarts over her cheek. She raises a tentative hand to her face as if she can't quite believe that Mulciber had just slapped her.

His voice is pitched low when he growls, "That's right. I believe you said that you'd rather marry a mudblood than me. Didn't you."

Now normally, Vivian would snap at him – tell him that yes, she had said that, and she'd meant it too – but suddenly all of her energy seems to sap right out of her. All she can do is lean against the wall and hold her cheek and stare at the ground.

Mulciber laughs, but it's a hollow sound. There is no humor behind it at all.

"You'd better get your head on straight. You keep going down this road you're on and there'll be hell to pay. You understand?"

It isn't a soft question. It's not pleading or beseeching. No, his voice is hard and rough and full of warning. He expects her to say yes. He expects her to listen to him. And really, if Vivian Blair was as smart as she likes to believe, then she would.

Self-preservation. What a frightfully impartial term.

"I – yes," she says shallowly, gasping around her words. They leave her throat like wayward points of light, with no substance behind them. Mulciber grimly stares at her, as if he is measuring them. She can't tell if he finds them lacking or not. His lip curls into a sneer. Scoffing a bit, he steps back.

"Good," he growls, and then turns to the pile of books that are littering the room. His already sneering expression darkens even more. She says nothing – does nothing – but lean against the wall and breathe in rattled breaths.

"I won't tell your father about this," Mulciber says as he crosses his arms and turns back to face her. He scoffs at the sight she makes and mutters, "It'll be our little secret, Vivian. Let's call it incentive, shall we?"

Finally, she glances up at him. The triumphant darkness pooling in his gaze makes her purse her mouth.

"Are you _blackmailing_ me?" she asks incredulously, the fire returning to her voice.

Mulciber barks out a laugh.

"It's for your own good," he tells her. Mulciber raises an eyebrow at her, his gaze lingering on her reddened cheek as he drawls, "You're a Slytherin, Blair. Start acting like one."

And then, turning on his heel, he heads to the opening of the alley without another glance. When he reaches it, he turns back around to face her and sneers, "I'll see you at the Malfoy's party. Better be on your best behavior, _love."_

Vivian just stares as he disappears, and then turns to stare at her books and thinks on his words. She thinks about what it means to be a Slytherin.

Ambition, cunning, self-preservation. She has those things in droves. She always thought that those traits define the Slytherin house perfectly, but suddenly she isn't so sure. There is a darkness on the loose that she can't seem to escape from. It knocks on her door, rattles at the windows, billows up from the cracks in the foundations of her life, and –

She cannot be free of it.

As she crouches down to collect her books, a voice suddenly drawls, "Lovers' spat?"

Vivian immediately stiffens.

"…Piss off, Black," she mutters scathingly, without so much as a glance. She knows that voice well enough. It's a voice that always seems to haunt her at the most inopportune times.

This particular time, though, it is not alone. James Potter raises an eyebrow at her and sighs, "You're always such a ray of sunshine, Blair."

She hears Sirius snort in amusement at this, but his laughter dies when she throws a glare at him, because that's when he sees how red her cheek is. It isn't so very difficult to connect the dots, really. Not when Adrian Mulciber is involved.

Before he even realizes he's doing it, Sirius is pushing forward to kneel down next to her and grab her chin. Vivian, who is so _done_ with being manhandled today, snarls at him and shoves him away from her, but the move doesn't even make Sirius blink. He stares at her with stormy grey eyes, and then turns to watch as Vivian gathers her purchases together. When he takes out his wand, she stiffens…until she sees that he's only trying to help.

Help. Now _that's_ a strange phenomenon. This is Sirius Black, after all.

"Relax, would you?" he mutters, seeing her stiffen out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't say anything more as he mutters a repairing spell on her torn bag and starts tossing her books back into it. He's being a little rougher than she'd like (books are _important_ to her), but Vivian ultimately doesn't say a single word as he reaches for the last one. His fingers brush against hers as he takes it.

Throughout all of this, Potter stands at the opening of the alley with his arms crossed and watches silently.

"…So is this a common thing?" Sirius hears himself ask. It's unplanned. He hadn't really meant to form the words at all, but he finds them bursting from his lips before he can stop them, and once they are out in the open and he sees Vivian's confused expression, he knows that it's too late to take them back. So instead of trying, he just sets the bag down in front of her and catches her eye.

"Being Adrian Mulciber's punching bag," he clarifies, and watches her grimace.

She looks annoyed that he had asked, but he doesn't regret it all the same.

"No," she mutters, and pushes herself into a standing position. Shooting a glowering look at him, she scoffs, "The next time I see him, I'll turn _him_ into a punching bag."

But will she? Her words are fierce but she isn't so sure that they are true. She's furious that he had pulled her into this alley and tried to tell her how to conduct her life, but he has something on her that she doesn't want anyone else to know. So isn't sure that rocking the boat any more than its already been rocked is a good idea…

But the corner of Sirius's mouth swings up into a smile, and it makes her think that perhaps it doesn't matter after all. Perhaps she _should_ get justice on Mulciber for pulling this shit on her. It's what he deserves, isn't it?

"Good to hear," he tells her, though she doesn't know why. It's not as if _Sirius Black _should care one way or the other.

Vivian stares at him for a moment, hedging on whether she should ask him _why_ he cares, and why he had helped her (even though she didn't need his help damn it) and why he's even here at all, but –

Merlin, talking to Sirius Black is always so _exhausting_.

"…Whatever. Move already," she mutters, then grabs her bag and darts around his figure, intent on leaving him as far behind her as possible. Of course, she doesn't account for the fact that James Potter is still standing in the entrance to the small alleyway, and when she tries to bluster past him, he casually shifts his frame in front of her. Instead of his usual smug smile, though, his expression is set into something far more cautious. He glances down at her red cheek and purses his mouth.

"You're a Slytherin, Blair, which means I really shouldn't say this, but – "

"I don't care _what_ you want to say, Potter. All I care about is getting the fuck away from you," Vivian cuts in, and pushes past him before he can finish his sentence. And, before either of them can stop her, Vivian weaves her way back into the street and loses herself in the crowd of other shoppers.

James turns to face Sirius, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Yeah – a little ray of sunshine, isn't she?"

Sirius just hums darkly and slips his hands into his pockets. Usually this would be the time when he would say something insulting about their Slytherin counterpart – something demeaning, to make light of the situation, but – instead, he just glances at the spot where Vivian had just stood and thinks about the mark on her cheek and the slight tremor in her voice, and…

He doesn't say anything at all.

* * *

It's late, nearly midnight, when a tapping sound draws Vivian's attention away from the book that's propped up in her lap. Oliver's escapades with his thieving friends is immediately put on hold as she stiffens and looks around her bedroom. That her mind abruptly flashes to the memory of Adrian cornering her in the alley earlier that afternoon is testament to her fraying nerves. She's been on edge since she'd returned, full of worry that perhaps he had informed her father of her whereabouts despite him telling her that he wouldn't. She's been tiptoeing around her parents all evening, waiting for them to receive word from him in his conquest to 'put her in her place', and so the tapping sound at her window is something that makes her very suspicious and very tense.

There's only one explanation for what the sound could be. The question isn't where the noise is coming from; it's who, exactly, is behind it. When she tosses her book onto her bed and throws back the covers, she's half tempted to ignore the damn owl entirely. What if it's from Mulciber?

Vivian shoots a glance at her bedroom door before unlatching her window. A burst of frigid air promptly consumes her, followed by the ruffle of wings as the owl lands atop the sill and dutifully sticks its leg out. The small roll of parchment that it bears is carefully untied. Vivian stares at it for a long moment before she actually unrolls it, still full of suspicion.

Oh, but – there is her name again, the V familiarly slashed, the recognizable scrawling handwriting – _Vivian,_ it says, and her frown becomes just a little less severe.

'_Vivian,_

_You're a nighttime sky above me,_

_The rustling grass below;_

_You're two sides of the moon, you see - _

_One side darkened,_

_One aglow,_

_Both full to bursting with beauty_

_That I shall never know._

_For I am but an old rowboat,_

_Adrift upon the sea;_

_I send a dozen hopeless notes_

_But the stars don't care_

_To hear my plea,_

_And ignore my plight within this boat_

_For they're too in love with thee._

_I suppose they can't be blamed; tonight_

_The moon commands us all._

_But I wish you'd turn and set your sight_

_To my lost path_

_Before I fall,_

_Into this ocean's stormy night,_

_Once and for all_

_Once and for all.'_

Seconds whisper by as she rereads the poem. Then, turning her gaze to the moon that sits high above the world, Vivian feels herself let out a strange, gasping sort of laugh. It's the sort of unbidden sound that is summoned when someone isn't entirely sure what to think. They're half startled, and partially confused, and just a little bit amazed; a storm swept up in a single moment, and gone so fast that it barely feels like it was there at all.

"Who sent this?" she asks the owl, as if she actually thinks that she'll receive a reply. It's a silly thing to do, but in the silence of her bedroom, swept up within the sentiments of this startling, confusing, amazing poem, it doesn't feel quite as silly as it would in the light of day.

The owl blinks at her, like he's telling her to stop asking so many questions. Then, before she can ask another, the creature lets out a small hoot and flutters its wings, lifting back up into the night sky and swooping away. The moonlight glistens against its feathers for some seconds before the owl is lost to her sight, just like her mystery writer is lost in his ocean, shooting letters to the moon –

To her.


	30. Qua Cursum Ventus

**Chapter Thirty | Qua Cursum Ventus **

**[Where the Winds guide their Course]**

Elitist gatherings really aren't her cup of tea, but Vivian can hardly refuse to attend them. Her mother had been a little too excited when helping Vivian prepare for the night, no doubt spurred on by the notion of impressing Adrian. The thought makes Vivian feel ill, but she had known better than to say anything about it. She knows for a fact that her mother would have none of that – especially considering the amount of time and beauty spells that she had put into making her daughter presentable for the evening.

Please. She feels more like a doll than a human being. Her ruby dress robes are pretty, of course. They mold tightly to her upper body before flowing down to a floor-length skirt. The sleeves cling to her arms, tapering to her wrists in finely cut silk gauze, and the cloak that sits upon her slim shoulders is built into the robes rather than separate from them, making the whole piece look like a regal cape whenever she walks. The color offsets her darker hair, which her mother had spent quite a lot of time pulling into the elaborate updo it is currently in. Twists and curls are held together with a silver pin hammered to look like a jasmine flower, its petals curled outward like the points of a star. She's wearing more make-up than she usually does, and it's making her face feel heavy. Her mother had told her not to smile too much tonight in order to 'preserve her look'. That won't be much of an issue, though. Vivian doesn't feel much like smiling anyhow.

The Malfoy Manor is a place that she's been to plenty of times before, but tonight it feels different. Their annual Christmas Eve ball seems more stifling than it ever has in years past. Perhaps it's due to the fact that Adrian has hardly left her side all evening. She doesn't know what game he's playing, or if he's being genuine or not, but he has been the picture of genteelness since he had first appeared at her side to draw her away from her parents. Her mother has been smiling proudly all night, chattering away with her friends and occasionally glancing over at her daughter. Every time she does, her smile grows wider. As for her father, he's hardly spared her a second glance since they'd arrived. He's been much too busy speaking with Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black in the corner. Vivian doesn't want to know what they're talking about, but to be honest, she thinks she'd rather be swept up in their conversation rather than the one she's currently in.

"You and I, Theodore, Severus, and Evan are already sworn in, of course, but we need more recruits," Adrian is saying to Lucius. His arm is thrown around Vivian's waist, hand firmly holding her hip as he draws her against him. For now, she appears to be arm candy and little else, because he's a little busy speaking to Lucius and isn't giving her much attention. Vivian just sips her drink and listens to their conversation, deciding that it's probably a good idea to know what she's dealing with here.

She's not at all surprised to hear that Adrian's entire group of friends have already taken their vows. She had seen the beginning of Mulciber's Dark Mark first hand, in the common room some weeks before. If he's already a Death Eater, then it would make sense for his close friends to be Death Eaters too – especially after their trip into Diagon Alley the other night.

Lucius hums. His eyes drift to Vivian for a moment before he says, "My father told me that the Dark Lord is looking to swear in more students. He wants them young to ensure their loyalty."

Adrian nods as if this makes perfect sense. "Well Vivian will be joining, of course. And I'm sure Flint would be interested. Regulus is a bit young still, but – "

"Excuse me?" Vivian interrupts, raising an eyebrow and peering at Adrian with a flashing gaze. "I never said I'd join."

At once, Adrian stops talking and turns to her as if he's only now remembering that she's there at all, tucked into his side. He lifts his eyebrows skeptically. "I thought you enjoyed our little night out the other day. Figured you'd want another go."

Vivian opens her mouth to respond, though with what, she doesn't know. It's probably just as well that she doesn't get the chance, though.

"You have some time to think about it," Lucius cuts in smoothly, waving his hand. "I doubt that Narcissa will be interested. As long as you support Adrian, then it hardly matters if you bear the Mark or not."

Vivian's eyes flash to Lucius's. She frowns and opens her mouth again – but is _again_ interrupted by Adrian when he shrugs, "I suppose you're right, Lucius, but just look at Bella and Rod – they're the ideal couple, aren't they? They're in it together."

Lucius nods in agreement and glances across the room to where Narcissa is standing. "Yes…that's true. Narcissa is too softhearted to fight, though. I would be constantly worried about her. Vivian is just the same."

Softhearted? Vivian bristles at being spoken about when she is standing right in front of them. She's annoyed – annoyed that she has to be here tonight, annoyed that Adrian seems to think that she belongs to him – annoyed at it all. Maybe that's why she ends up hissing, "You both seem to be under the impression that I'll become Adrian's wife."

The two men raise their eyebrows at each other, then turn to look at Vivian. Lucius seems oddly amused at her words. Adrian's expression is a little more bitter.

He squeezes his arm around her waist tightly and turns his head to growl against her ear, _"Don't make a scene, Vivian."_

He sounds annoyed. Well good. She's annoyed too. With pursed lips, Vivian turns to glower at him. "I've told you already that I'm never going to marry you, Adrian."

He grits his teeth at her, then glances at Lucius to say, "I'm going to go have a word with my future wife, Lucius. I'll see you later."

Lucius inclines his head towards him and sends Vivian a smirk as he drawls, "Don't be _too_ hard on her, Adrian."

Adrian scoffs at this and pulls Vivian to a nearby alcove, where the majority of the room can't see them. The first moment he can, he pushes her against the wall and says darkly, "I thought I told you to get your head on straight, Vivian."

She pushes him off of her and snarls, "And I thought I told you to mind your own business, _Adrian."_

The way she sneers his name disrespectfully makes him grit his teeth. He leans closer to her, as if they're sharing an intimate moment, and murmurs, "Perhaps you've already forgotten that I know all about your trip into muggle London, love. You might want to think twice before speaking. You may regret it."

She scowls at him and tries to shove him away again, but Adrian Mulciber is too determined to put her in her place to let her succeed this time. He grabs her hands when she pushes them against his chest and just leans in closer, twisting them around her back and, as a result, bending her arm at an odd angle. It's all done in such a manner that it looks like he's holding her gently, as if he's merely embracing her in their quiet little corner.

"I'm not afraid of you," Vivian hisses at him, feeling disgust broil up within her when she feels his breath against her exposed neck.

He scoffs and lifts his head to sneer, "I don't want you to be afraid of me – I want you to shut up and do as you're told."

They glare at each other for a long moment before he smirks and leans even closer, pressing his chest against hers. She tries to grapple her hands free, but his grip on her wrists is like iron, especially when his other hand curls around her body to hold her in place.

"Let go of me," she snarls at him, but Adrian only smirks.

"Just admit it, Vivian. There's nothing you can do. You're stuck with me," he tells her. "I really don't know why you're making such a fuss about it – "

And then, quite suddenly, he lets out a hissing curse when Vivian lifts her heel to dig it into his shoe, interrupting him mid-speech with the painfully sharp tip of her stiletto. He releases her so quickly that, had she not already been half leaning against the wall, she probably would have fallen. As it is, though, Vivian just crosses her arms with smug triumph and watches as his face reddens with anger and his eyes flash with pain.

He leans his weight onto his non-injured foot and dangerously growls, "You little _bitch – "_

"Vivian?" a voice suddenly cuts in, and both Vivian and Adrian turn to see Regulus Black standing a bit off to the side, looking rather uncomfortable. "…Er. I was just wondering if you wanted to dance. As long as Adrian is alright with it?" He glances at Adrian and raises an eyebrow at his red face.

Adrian promptly scowls, "Do whatever you like. I've got something to say to Mr. Blair anyhow."

Vivian freezes. Adrian just smirks at her through his fury. When he begins to hobble away, she darts out to grab onto his arm and whisper, "No – don't, Adrian. Look, I'm sorry okay? Just – don't say anything to him."

Adrian immediately throws her off of his arm and watches as she stumbles back. He doesn't even seem to care when Regulus steps in to steady her. He has eyes only for Vivian, his gaze flashing with a vengeful darkness that makes her feel vaguely sick.

"You've got to learn your lesson one of these days, Blair. If this is the way to do it, then so be it. Just remember that you got yourself into this," he growls at her, and turns around to duck into the crowd, leaving her standing against a very confused Regulus.

"Vivian? What's going on?" he asks, drawing her to the side. True, his original intentions had been to dance with her, but she looks very out of sorts right now and he doesn't think she's all that interested in rejoining the rest of the party just yet. Instead, he guides her over to the wall, but Vivian hardly looks at him. Her eyes are trained to Adrian's figure as he stumbles across the room towards where her father is standing. She doesn't look away even for a second.

"Vivian?" Regulus asks again, and follows her gaze across the Malfoy's luxurious ballroom to where Adrian is now joining their parents. Orion Black looks up at him as he approaches, and Lukas Blair puts his hand on Adrian's shoulder as if he's already a proud member of their family.

Vivian reaches up to grasp Regulus's sleeve with tight, clawing fingers.

"You're making me a bit worried," Regulus murmurs, but again, she doesn't respond. She's too busy watching Adrian lean into her father. Too busy watching as her father's grip on his shoulder tightens. Too busy watching the brewing storm tip over the edges of Lukas Blair's expression.

When her father's eyes lift up to clash into hers for the first time all night, Vivian trembles.

"Oh God. Get me out of here, Reg," she breathes, taking a step back as if the impact of her father's furious expression is a literal force that buffets into her.

Regulus hesitates, all too aware of Lukas Blair's glaring countenance and Adrian's vengeful smirk. When Vivian turns her body into his, though, his choice is made immediately, without thought of consequence or repercussion. When it comes to Vivian Blair, all bets are off.

Without another moment's pause, Regulus is leading her down the corridor to their left, hurrying her down the length of it as he puts a protective arm around her shoulders. He doesn't know what had just occurred, but he does know Adrian Mulciber, and he also knows the sort of disdainful, furious look that Lukas Blair had just bestowed upon his daughter. Regardless of what he's missed, he knows one thing at least: Vivian is in trouble, and he would shield her if he could.

He's been inside the Malfoy manor enough times to know the general layout of it. He hastens them down several hallways until he reaches the doors that lead outside to the expansive gardens. They could get lost here, in this maze of hedges. It could be their own little world, for a time. He pulls her into it and, to his immense surprise, Vivian throws her arms around him at the first opportunity and shivers against his body.

Regulus freezes immediately at her boldness. He wants to ask what's wrong, and why her father had looked so angry, but instead, he just bites his questions back and gathers her up into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder with gentle care. He says nothing – nothing at all – as she shivers into him. He doesn't do anything but hold her tightly and wait. And if he knows that she's trying her very hardest not to cry, well, Regulus makes no mention of that either. Instead they just stand in the winter cold, surrounded by tall hedgerows as the silence buffets around them.

They stand like that for a long time. In Regulus Black's arms, Vivian feels safe. In this protective embrace, she feels as if nothing can harm her. She knows it isn't true, of course, but for as long as she is able to, she closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of oak-and-orange and pretends. And she is struck with a thought, then, in that moment – a thought that only makes her hold him tighter, because it fills her with a strange wistfulness that she can't quite explain, or describe in any way that makes sense, but –

Merlin, wouldn't it be nice to marry him instead?

It is precisely this thought that draws her away from him, whilst simultaneously making her want to bury herself against him for the rest of eternity. It's too nice to think on; too hopelessly beautiful to consider, when the reality is so cold and unforgiving.

"I'm sorry," she croaks, and pulls away from him at long last. Her hands slip down his chest and lift away from his dress shirt, until the protective warmth that had just been hers is irrefutably gone.

Regulus just stares at her in contemplative silence, and fights the urge to pull her back against him. Instead, he murmurs, "…What for?"

He watches her expression carefully. She feels his eyes studying her, looking for some sort of explanation for the last few minutes, but all she can do is stare at one of the buttons of his shirt and swallow back a fresh wave of tears.

"You're so…so _good,_ Regulus. You can't join the Dark Lord. Please don't," she suddenly says – begs, almost – and it's so abrupt and unexpected that Regulus furrows his brow in confusion.

"Vivian – " he begins, but she doesn't let him get any further than her name.

"No, just listen to me," she says, voice shaking with a wilderness that he is not accustomed to hearing from her. "The attack on Diagon Alley – I was there that night. Adrian wanted me to get a taste of – of what it means to be a Death Eater. Regulus, you're too good for that. Too good to throw your soul away. It was awful, and – Merlin, you're the only person who I've said any of this to, Reg, but I know this isn't you. I _know_ it."

Throughout her impromptu speech, Regulus stiffens into an unyielding statue. He stares down at her with tight eyes, mouth lowering into a hard line. It isn't that he's angry at her for saying any of this; it's just – she shouldn't be saying it at all. It's dangerous to speak like that, especially after the scene that had just occurred in the ballroom. A scene that he is still confused about.

Instead of responding to her, Regulus just reaches for her arm and pulls her over to a nearby bench. The iron is cold when he sits her down on it, and Vivian shivers almost violently when a rush of bitter wind breezes through them. He slips onto the bench beside her and pulls her hands into his, hoping to warm them. Perhaps coming outside on this winter's night had been a bad idea, but he can't help but feel as though it is freeing, almost. Liberating in a way that he feels right down to his bones.

"Vivian, what just happened in there?" he asks, wrangling his voice into something that resembles more of a question and less of a demand. For now, he fully intends on ignoring her recent speech. He needs to know the answer to this question, first.

She shakes her head and bites her lip, clearly unwilling to explain it to him.

"You can trust me," he tells her, and reaches up to tuck a rebellious strand of her hair behind her ear. In the thick of night, the chocolate brown of it looks black. He takes a breath and whispers, "I would never hurt you, Vivian."

She shivers and closes her eyes. He waits, and when she opens them again, she looks almost sad.

"You'll judge me for it," she murmurs, and draws her hands away.

Regulus sighs and pulls them back, threading his fingers through hers. "I won't," he says, and means it.

Vivian swallows. She chances a look at his face. Whatever she sees there must bolster her courage, because she draws in a rattled breath and admits, "I like reading, you know? But there's this author that I love and she's – a muggle. She's a muggle. And Adrian found out that I like reading muggle literature and now my father knows and he's going to literally kill me when he finds out where I am – "

The rush of her words becomes garbled, and she breaks off as she takes a deep breath that is even more rattled than the last. She fully expects Regulus to throw her hands away and tell her how revolting it is that she likes _anything_ from the muggle world – the very world that he will seek to destroy, if he joins the Death Eaters – but instead, the most shocking thing happens. Regulus doesn't throw her hands away or tell her off. He doesn't storm out of the gardens to go find her father and tell him where she is. No, instead, he laughs.

He _laughs_.

Vivian's mouth drops open. She gapes at him, feeling surprised and offended at the same time – until Regulus shakes his head at her and drawls, "I _know_ that, Vivian."

And just like that, the insulted emotions swirling around her chest disappears, and the surprise takes its place entirely.

"You – what?"

Regulus sends her a crooked smile. "Really? You might fool everyone else with your so-called dictionaries, but I'm a lot more observant than you've given me credit for."

_Especially when it comes to you, _he like to say, but doesn't.

Vivian just keeps gaping at him, until at last, she breathes, "…How did you find out?"

He shakes his head at her again as if he's a little offended at the question, but his eyes tell her otherwise. With a chuckle, Regulus leans back and sweeps an arm over the back of the bench. "Please. You're not the type to constantly be reading something as boring as a dictionary." When she sends him a skeptical look, he purses his mouth and grudgingly adds, "Alright, so you left one laying around in the common room last year and I connected the dots. It wasn't _that_ hard to figure out, especially since my brother is literally enamored with all things 'muggle'."

She isn't expecting him to mention Sirius. Raising her eyebrows, she murmurs, "…Is that so?" but doesn't think too much on it. Sirius Black is not her primary concern right now, and besides, what does she care if he's enamored with the muggle world? It only makes sense that he'd be more forgiving towards them, seeing as he's been heralded as a blood traitor.

Vivian catches Regulus's eye and quietly murmurs, "So…you don't care that I like reading muggle books?" She sounds as if she can't quite believe it.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "I can hardly judge you for reading, can I? Besides, it's not as if _my_ opinion matters."

He's wrong, though – his opinion _does_ matter. She doesn't really know why, but the thought of sinking beneath Regulus's high regard for her makes her feel strangely upset, as if she couldn't bear the mere thought of it. But he's also right, at least at this moment, in saying that his opinion doesn't matter. It's her _father's_ opinion that should take precedence, not his.

"He's going to kill me, Reg," she shakily tells him, and turns her face into his shoulder.

Regulus purses his lips and slowly responds, "…He's your father. He'll forgive you." But even as he says it, he thinks upon his own father, and he isn't so sure that his words are of any comfort to her. After all, if his parents had caught him tampering with the 'filthy muggles', they would be absolutely furious. One doesn't have to look any further than his brother to see the consequences of said fury. But surely, Sirius had asked for it. He had done a lot worse than read a few books. He's practically spent his whole life purposefully getting on his parents' nerves by obsessing over muggle contraptions and venturing out into the city to befriend the very people that Walburga and Orion Black loathe. It's different. Isn't it?

"You don't know my father," she whispers to him, and the fear that shakes through her voice is enough to make Regulus pull her against him once more.

"It's going to be okay," he tells her, but again, he isn't sure if his words of comfort are very effective. He runs his fingers over the back of her neck and whispers, "Just…apologize to him. You don't have to mean it, but it'll help lessen the blow."

He pretends not to hear the way Vivian sniffles as she murmurs, "…You think?"

She pulls back a bit and looks up at him, and – well, he doesn't really know what comes over him, but before he can stop it, the words just flow out of his lips without thought or reason, and he blurts out, "Vivian, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to deny the Dark Lord. I've already told Lucius that I'm joining and I can't go back on my word – it would be suicide."

She stares at him, and slowly reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes. And in that moment, Regulus is overcome by anther urge – but this one doesn't require any kind of words at all, and battling it down is far more difficult when all he wants to do is lean closer to her.

"…I'm scared for you, Reg," she whispers, and the urge grows stronger.

"Don't be," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. His eyes flicker down to her mouth. Merlin, he wants to kiss her. He thinks he's never wanted anything more in his whole life. As if he is pulled by gravity alone, he moves closer – close enough for his nose to brush against hers. Their eyes lock, and for the briefest of moments, he is utterly convinced that she wants him to kiss her just as badly. And maybe she does, maybe that's why her heart is flying so hard against her chest. Maybe that's why, when she feels his breath against her mouth, she wets her lips. Maybe that's why her fingers curl into his shirt as if she never wants to let him go.

Maybe, maybe, maybe –

But she will not know, not now, not yet. Fate's pale hand paints a picture of her destiny and it is not to be made here in this wintry garden amidst the falling snow. No, not here in Regulus Black's arms – not yet. There are many more stones to throw before she will ever feel his lips against hers; before she will ever truly surrender to the ricocheting, jagged beat of her heart as it presses into his. And, Fate whispers, when such a moment does come to be, if it is indeed prophesied, it will not happen like this, not with this innocent gentleness or this tentative care. No, no – but rather it will be a tempestuously ragged tune that plays along the very edge of desperation – to feel something, to be something more than what she has become, to force herself to remember what it means to be swept up in the warmth of love's caress –

No, not yet.

"Vivian? There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you," Morrigan Flint's voice tumbles through the gardens, and Vivian flies back with a startled jerk and throws herself against the other end of the bench, as far away from Regulus as she can get.

When she turns to face Morrigan, the girl is staring at her with incredulous eyes, looking between her and Regulus as if she is only now realizing what she had nearly interrupted. A distinct awkwardness invades the garden. The bite of winter air gnashes against them all the harder.

Regulus, who has frozen where he is into an immovable sculpture, feels that winter air bite the hardest.

"Er…sorry. Didn't mean to…interrupt. Um. I just thought you should know that your parents just left the party and they sent me to tell you that they want you home immediately. I don't think you should wait, Vivian – they looked pretty angry," Morrigan says in a rush, and clears her throat as she shoots Regulus another glance. In a voice that sounds slightly lighter, she asks, "What did you do to piss them off? Ran off on Adrian?"

She chuckles a bit, but when neither Vivian nor Regulus respond to this question, Morrigan clears her throat again and mutters, "…Right. Too soon? I'll just, um, let you guys work out whatever sexual tension you need to get out of your systems."

And on that lovely note, Morrigan turns on her heel to return to the party, leaving Vivian with bright red cheeks. Regulus purses his mouth, brows furrowing into a downturned frown. They both accidentally meet each other's eyes, but they immediately turn away the moment they do. Regulus abruptly stands up, and Vivian clears her throat as she turns to stare at the towering hedgerow in front of them.

"…You should get it over with," Regulus murmurs, busying himself with brushing out nonexistent wrinkles from his dress robes. He doesn't look at Vivian when she stands up a moment later – at least not until she steps over to him to purposefully catch his eye.

"Look Regulus – " she starts to say, but he cuts her off.

"It's okay, Vivian. I'll go inside and try to calm Adrian down. You should go home." He puts his hands on her shoulders and sends her a quiet smile before adding, "You'll be fine. Trust me."

She'd like to say that she does trust him. She'd like to say that she wants to rewind the last few minutes entirely and make it so that Morrigan hadn't interrupted whatever was happening between them, but –

Well, that's the thing about love. Time rules it, and tonight, time is not on their sides, nor shall it be for quite a while yet.

Regulus takes one more glance at her before releasing her shoulders and striding back towards the house, leaving her standing alone amidst the falling snow. The warmth of his hands vanishes like smoke drifting up into the night sky, and she doesn't have time to tell him any of the things on her mind.

She doesn't any time at all.

* * *

"Did you even think about the consequences of your actions?" her father demands the moment she appears in the fireplace of his study.

Soot and ash cling to her form. Her ruby gown is streaked with it, but she doesn't have time to spell it away. Her parents have been waiting for her – for how long, she does not know – but their impatience at having to wait at all has not made them any less angry. Her father paces the length of the study. Her mother stands by the armchair in front of his desk. They are both tight-lipped and stiff, arms crossed, movements tense. It is expected, but not altogether pleasant.

With a barking laugh, Lukas Blair sneers, "Of course you didn't! I never thought of you as a fool, Vivian. I suppose I can only blame myself for not seeing it before now!"

"Lukas – " her mother begins, but is cut off when her father reaches over to grab Vivian's wrist and pull her forcefully into the armchair that her mother is standing over. She bites back the surprised yelp that threatens to leave her throat as her body is pushed into it. Her father has never raised a hand against her before, not even like this.

"Listen here," he all but growls, "I WILL NOT have my daughter making a fool of me! Were you ever going to mention this traipse into muggle territory? Thank Merlin that Adrian has your best interests at heart, Vivian. At least someone is trying to set you straight."

Vivian purses her mouth. "Father – "

"Quiet!" he roars, and leans forward against the arms of her chair, towering over her. His expression is furious. It is beyond furious. So is his voice when he growls, "Where are they?"

In any other context, his question might have been confusing, but Vivian knows what he's asking. She stiffens and shakes her head, "It's only – "

"WHERE ARE THEY?"

" – a couple of books, father, really – it was just for fun – I didn't mean anything by it – "

Her spluttering only makes him more incensed, though. Lukas Blair does not like circular conversation. No, he likes when things fall into place according to his own plan, and in this moment in time, said plan is teetering on the brink of failure. He looks down at his daughter as if she herself is the failure, and when she only continues to splutter out what he deems to be halfhearted excuses, his fury is only further rankled.

With an irate expression, he pushes himself back up, turns, and walks briskly for the door.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out where he's headed. Vivian is quick to follow, pushing herself after him on shaky legs. She feels faint, as if she might trip and fall at any moment, like a newborn deer just beginning to walk. Her courage is bolstered, for a moment, when she darts into the hallway after him and throws herself onto his arm, but Lukas Blair is a force to be reckoned with and right now, his heart is a malefic storm swept through with icy rain.

He knocks her back with a glare and continues on his way as if she is little more than a fly buzzing about his figure. Vivian is only vaguely aware of her mother as she reaches down to grasp her arm and guide her down the hallway. Isobel Blair is not half as furious as her father, but her voice is still tight with disappointment and her own brand of anger when she murmurs, "Come along, Vivian. Don't make this any harder than it needs to be."

But no matter how the situation could have played out – in any of the potential futures that could have been hers at this moment – there is no way for it to be made any easier. They do not understand it, you see. Vivian Blair's love of books had been what had initially led her into that muggle bookstore years before, but her love has since grown into something so much more than an appreciation for words upon a page. It is a part of her now – deeply rooted and wild – and as she hurries down the corridor after her father's brisk figure, it feels almost as if that integral piece of her soul is about to be ripped apart.

What does one do, in an instance like this? All Vivian knows is what she does. When her father storms his way up the stairs and barges through the door of her bedroom – when he lifts his wand and turns to riffle through the bookshelf, throwing both muggle and magical tomes to the floor – when he angrily sweeps around the space as if he's expecting to see other muggle oddities lying about for all to see and, when he finds little else, turns back to the pile of books littering her floor –

Well, what does Vivian do? She does not think, or hesitate, or waver. She acts.

"Incendio!" her father thunders, just as she throws herself in front of the spell.

Fire blasts into her, and she chokes back a scream.

It can be said, at the very least, that her parents are quite startled by the suddenness of her actions, and her mother rushes forward to push her husband's wand to the side before it can cause any further harm. It can at least be said that they would never harm her in such a manner on purpose, with any such malicious intent. Her father immediately stops the spell, staring at his daughter as if he thinks she has gone mad. Her mother throws herself forward to take Vivian's shoulders and to inspect the damage.

"Vivian!" her mother gasps, her anger drained abruptly away. She gingerly touches Vivian's cheek, which is red and sore, but the majority of the fire had touched her hands and arms when she had lifted them up to stop it. Pain unfurls through her like a wildfire, sweeping up the ruined sleeves of her ruby dress robes. The delicate organza is now burnt and seared away from wrist to elbow. The skin of her forearms blisters with remnants of the flame's touch, and her fingers feel as though they are burnt to a crisp.

"Are you mad?" her father demands. His anger comes tearing back into him at the sight Vivian makes, standing pathetically in the center of her room. He curls his lip at her in disgust, taking in the smoking dress robes and the reddened skin from where the fire had grazed. The wild eyes make him grit his teeth. There is still too much defiance in them.

Shaking now with fury, Lukas Blair demands, "Move aside, Vivian. Now."

Her breath comes out in harsh, shallow gasps and spill into her voice when she heaves, "No."

Her mother purses her lips.

"Move. Aside," her father says again. This time, his voice clamors with ire – so much of it that his hands shake and his usual arrogant expression falls to rage.

Her voice is stuck in her throat, so Vivian just shakes her head instead. She presses her teeth against her tongue, so hard that the pain nearly overpowers the fresh wounds that blister over her arms – nearly, but not quite, and the abrasions on her skin flare with agony when her father storms forward to bodily push her out of his path.

"You can't, father!" she hears herself choke, and pushes back against him despite the distress to her injuries.

Now Lukas Blair is not a patient man. He never has been and never will be. He turns his nose up at any trace of opposition, especially from his family. Especially from his daughter.

He grabs her arm, digs his fingers into the wounds, and pushes her back with so much force that her already shaky body careens into the floor. She falls hard against the wood, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as her heart does, when her father raises his wand again and this time, his spell hits its intended mark.

Magical fire is different from its natural brethren. It burns with a vengeance until the spell is directed elsewhere. It doesn't matter what object it is sent towards, whether it be stone or brick, wood or iron – it burns regardless. And books? Paper and ink? Well, they burn very quickly.

Vivian watches in horror as the pile of her prized books catch on fire. It doesn't matter that she had left most of her Austen collection at school, safe and sound within the trunk that is at this very moment quietly pushed beneath her bed. There are other books in her collection that mean just as much to her – other muggle authors that she favors, whose names are now being scorched into ashes. Virginia Woolf and Emily Bronte, Harding and Eliot. And – heart lurching, Vivian realizes too late that Oliver Twist is amongst that pile. Oliver Twist, which does not belong to her. Oh, but Gavin will be so upset –

"If I ever hear of you traipsing off to visit muggles again, a few burnt books will be the least of your worries, Vivian," her father says, arms crossed as he watches his handiwork. He doesn't look at her at all, as if the mere sight of his own daughter is so disagreeable that he can't bear to even turn his head in her direction.

And – Persuasion. She sees it now, its charm worn off in the heat of the fire, transforming from its enchanted dictionary into what it truly is: a worn down, second-hand copy of the book she has read more times than she can count. Its binding curls, its pages unreadable, destroyed like all the rest. The sight makes tears spill over her eyes. They burn a path down her red, painful cheeks.

"And while I have your attention," her father adds, finally turning to view her with an almost impartial disregard, "I don't know what you were doing with that Regulus boy tonight, but I hardly think I need to tell you to keep your distance from that family. I don't need another altercation with the Blacks – not after your first betrothal failed so completely."

He stares at her tears for a long moment, chin lifted as he towers above her. Perhaps there is some part of him that feels sorry for making his own child cry. After all, a father's love for his daughter is universal – or it ought to be, anyhow. But even if Lukas Blair does feel some semblance of guilt, he does not let it show upon his face or leak into his voice, and perhaps there is nothing to show anyway. Guilt and pity are not emotions that he often wears.

"I'm sure you aren't really as dimwitted as you've shown tonight," he continues. "I expect that you'll apologize promptly to Adrian for everything that has occurred. With any luck, we'll be able to salvage the mess you've created."

Persuasion, at its place in the center of the pile, shutters out and falls to pieces.

Her mother silently steps forward and kneels at Vivian's side. She draws one of her arms out for inspection and pulls her wand out, but Lukas Blair stops her before she can perform a healing spell.

"Leave it until morning," he orders, voice taut and unforgiving. He stares at his daughter, but she has eyes only for the fire that is still searing the books at the center of the room. His mouth turns down. "…A little pain will send the message home."

Her mother hesitates, but obeys. She reaches out to draw her hand over her daughter's hair in what is probably meant to be a soothing touch, but Vivian flinches back the moment her fingers alight on her head, and Isobel Blair immediately pauses. She hesitates for only a moment before pushing herself onto her feet and tucking her wand away, looking as if she'd like to contradict her husband when she glances down at the raw skin of her daughter's arms, but – she says not a word as she turns to the door and takes her leave; the obedient wife of a monster.

Vivian's father lingers there for only a moment longer before he, too, leaves the room. The door slams shut after him, but Vivian barely hears it. She is too busy reaching out to pull Oliver Twist towards her with a morose expression. Gripping her wand is more painful than she'd like to admit, but the water that she summons puts out the remainder of the flames. She tentatively touches the scorched black binding. The gold leaf crumbles off immediately.

She sits there and stares at it for a long time, pushing tears from her cheeks and wondering at the strange hollowness in her chest. And then –

Well, Vivian has never been a rebellious child. She has never had a reason to act out before tonight. She has never felt the urge to leave the comforts of her home or to brave the world outside of it, not like this. But as she stuffs the remnants of Oliver Twist into her satchel and peels the organza sleeves from her wounded arms, throws on fresh clothes and grabs her old broom, the urge intensifies to such an extent that she feels as though she cannot bear to spend another moment in this place. This room or this house or this property.

She is not courageous or brave. She does not believe that her heart is strong. Her will breaks and bends with the tide, never remaining in one place for very long, always shifting when a better opportunity presents itself. Perhaps that is what it means to be a Slytherin, or – perhaps that is only what it means to be Vivian Blair. She doesn't know and she doesn't need to. All she knows is that when she flies to the edge of the property and out of the protection spells placed around the manor, throws her broomstick by the imposing iron wrought gates, and turns on the spot to disapparate, she feels as if she is chasing freedom itself.

And she doesn't know why she says, "Godric's Hollow." It is the first thing that pops into her head. There is no reason behind it – only a memory, of Dumbledore turning to look at her on the last day of classes, in the doorway of the classroom they had used for their final prefect meeting of the term, when he had said – "I hear that Godric's Hollow is lovely this time of year." Or, maybe, it's because she can hear his voice in her head, calling her 'Godric' again and again and again. And for reasons she does not know, she latches onto that voice and that nickname and -

She has nowhere to go and her mind focuses upon this singular thought – this place that she has never had a reason to go to before – with no plan or belongings and only a burnt book and a wand…

And suddenly, when she opens her eyes, she is not standing outside of the gates of the Blair Manor, but rather on the snowy streets of an unfamiliar village in the middle of the night. The winter chill is just as harsh as it had been when Vivian was standing in the Malfoy's gardens some hours before, dressed in her fine ruby robes with Regulus as her only source of warmth. It seems like an age since she had stood there, shivering against the cold and battling against the fear that had settled into her veins. Now, beneath the thickness of night, it feels as though she has ventured off into a new world entirely.

It's quiet, and soft, and the snow that falls from the sky is like a gentle caress that clings to her hair and eyelashes even as she brushes the snowflakes away. It is not a torrential storm, when the elements angrily sweep towards the earth with furious power. The snowflakes do not blast against her skin and the winds do not rage into her body. No, the snowfall on Christmas Eve in 1977 is far gentler than all that. It is the perfect storm, just barely a bluster. The snowflakes are fluffy, airy things that slowly drop from the sky as if they are perusing the earth, quietly looking for the ideal place to land.

Her eyes flash with images better left forgotten, but they are too recent to forget, and whenever she blinks she sees them all again, as if she is forever trapped in a memory set within a crystal ball. She stumbles a bit on a jagged cobblestone that's shifted out of place. Her shoes aren't meant for long excursions into the elements, and her toes feel like they're frozen and numb, but she can't stop. She feels that if she does, she might start crying, and Vivian Blair does not succumb to such fits of emotion. So instead, she keeps walking, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of her black woolen cloak, aware of her surroundings but not truly seeing them, wondering why there are no other people walking around.

She doesn't know that it's Christmas Eve, because she's forgotten. In the flurry of events, the days have blurred together. Later, she will find out that no one else is walking these streets because they are inside their warm, happy homes, preparing dinner and making toasts and ensuring that presents are sufficiently wrapped and set under the tree for the morning. But now, as she hikes her cloak up and bows her head against the snowy winds, her mind is too swept up. Too unfocused for any of such realizations, or to find any enjoyment in Christmastide celebrations.

There is a small church in the center of the village. Vivian pauses outside of it, tempted to go inside for warmth until she realizes that a service of some sort is being held within. This should be the first reminder that it is Christmas Eve, for why else would there be a mass so late at night? It is nearly midnight when she had disapparated to this small village, after all, but she does not connect the dots. No, she does not so much as wonder at the oddity even as she takes a shaky seat on the cold stone steps leading up to the church.

_O, come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant…_

…_O come ye, o come ye to Bethlehem…_

God, what is she doing here? She must be insane. Burying her face in her hands, Vivian curls forward on the steps and hunches over her legs, faintly listening to the Christmas carol being sung within the church. It sounds almost hauntingly cheerful to her; ghostly and dull, like silver that has lost its shine. The voices of its singers rise up in a gentle cadence, but it sounds strangely morbid, and Vivian heaves out a sigh that edges along a sob as she clenches her frozen fingers into her hair and closes her eyes.

_No._ She won't cry. She won't.

She sinks her teeth into the inside of her cheek and focuses on the pain that flares through her at the action. It successfully distracts her from the tears, but it doesn't stop the memories from slamming into her mind. Drawing in a deep, shuttering breath of cold air, Vivian pushes her face away from her hands to look up at the night sky far above her.

_Come and behold him, born the King of Angels…_

She sees Orion's belt and locates Rigel, its brightest star, and then Betelgeuse and Saiph and Bellatrix… Clenching her jaw harder, she forcefully turns to a different constellation and tries to erase the sight of Bella's mad laughter and the sound of her cooing in her ear.

"_Imagine the pain you're summoning. Bring it into focus, love…"_

With a harsh exhale, Vivian leans against the edge of the stone stairway and quickly searches for a new constellation that will distract her more effectively. Perhaps it is Fate that guides her eyes to Canis Major – or perhaps it is only cold, hard reasoning. The brightest star in then night sky shines proudly from the heavens, and Vivian is drawn to it before she even realizes what constellation she is looking at. But then – yes, she sees it now, drawing imaginary lines between its stars. There is Laelaps in his eternal hunt, tearing through the winter skies towards his uncatchable enemy. Sirius is there; the beating heart that drives it forward.

Sirius. Perhaps Fate has guided her here, too, to this small village. Perhaps the reason she had thought to come to Godric's Hollow on this cold winter's night has little to do with Fate and more to do with some subconscious urge in her mind's eye, pressing into her without thought or sense. Or perhaps the two are the same. Maybe that's what Fate is: an illogical congruity that cannot be mapped by thought alone. It can only be felt, like those pinpricks of light sweeping the heavens far above her.

Maybe Fate breathes into the subconscious. Perhaps that's how it operates. Maybe she was meant to be here tonight, sitting on this abandoned step while the choir of singers hum behind closed doors and the snowflakes settle upon her cloak as if they are trying to make her one of their own; or maybe it is all one laughable mistake – unreasonably asinine. Foolish, irrational…

And here she is now, with arms that burn painfully beneath her cloak and thoughts that spin dizzily through her mind, layering one on top of the other in relentless pursuit; a useless book at her side as the snow grows heavier and the stars become shrouded from sight. Lost and alone and miserable, fighting back tears and wondering why she had decided to come to this dreary village in the middle of nowhere but not wanting to go back home for anything in the world. And as the choir of singing comes to a slow halt from behind the doors of the church, another sound takes its place.

It is laughter, but Vivian is too busy staring at her raw fingers to pay it much mind. Until, of course, a very familiar voice suddenly says, "Godric?", and, startled, Vivian lifts her eyes up until they clash into a pair of stormy grey.


	31. Ex gratia

**Chapter Thirty One | Ex gratia**

**[As an act of grace]**

Vivian Blair is a sight for sore eyes – literally. Sirius has to fight back a grimace as he takes her in. Never mind the fact that he would never have expected to see her here, of all places, and on Christmas Eve no less – she looks…well, he's not sure there's a word to describe how she looks. Harrowing, perhaps. Haunted. Lost. At his side, James shoots him an alarmed glance, but Sirius doesn't return it. He has eyes only for her.

Her gaze is darkly hooded, and in the dimness of night, her eyes look black. It isn't the color of them that really gives him pause, but the emotions behind them. Or rather the _lack_ of emotions. It strikes him as odd, that the last time he had seen her, only a few days before, her eyes had been bursting with wildfire flames, bristling with indignance. Now, she only blinks over at him once before returning her eyes to her hands, which are curled in front of her and trembling.

It's too dark to see much else. Besides the lone lamppost flickering some yards away to mark the entrance to the small church, it is very dark. He doubts they would have seen her at all had they been coming from the other direction. As it is, he sees only her thick woolen cloak and the outline of her bare fingers and her dull eyes and her shivering frame. The rest is unknown to him, for now.

"Stalking us now, are you?" he drawls, just to break the silence. It works on his end, at least, but Vivian doesn't seem to remember what language is, because she does not respond. Instead, she just buries herself further into her cloak and turns her head in a way that makes it clear that she's trying to pretend they aren't there at all.

This time, when James glances over at him, Sirius glances back.

Now Sirius Black is not the tentative sort of person. He doesn't hesitate before taking action, or pause to consider his options. His usual brand of execution is brasher than that. He sweeps in like a storm and lets the wind take him where it will. But this time, in this moment, something makes him waver. Maybe it's the fact that, as James and him walk closer to the church and to the unexpected figure hunched over its steps, he gets a better look at Vivian Blair and he realizes for the first time that she's been crying.

This is usually the time when that stubborn part of him would claim that such a thing is impossible, because Vivian doesn't have a heart and therefore cannot cry. She doesn't have the capabilities – doesn't possess the inclination. There's no reason for her to cry anyhow, because her perfect pureblood existence is totally unmarred by anything that might bring such a temperamental impulse into focus. But then he remembers seeing Adrian Mulciber storming out of the alley a few days ago, and the red mark on Vivian's cheek when him and James had decided to go investigate Mulciber's appearance, and for the first time, he wrangles down that stubborn part of him and merely takes a seat next to her on the steps.

James kicks at the snow as he, too, approaches her. Vivian's downturned face is quite unusual. She's always so sure of herself. She walks through the halls of Hogwarts as if she owns the whole castle, as if nothing can hurt her. But there is something almost pitiable about her in this moment that neither James nor Sirius can ignore.

"What are you doing here, Blair?" James asks, when it's clear that Sirius isn't going to speak. His friend to studying Vivian with a closeness that he might normally tease him for, but that playful urge does not come. Actually, if he's being completely honest, he's a little bit worried.

Especially when Vivian hoarsely responds, "…There's no reason," and then falls silent once more.

Really, it's the silence that's the most concerning. Vivian Blair is never this quiet, especially when she's got two Marauders asking her annoying questions.

"It's just a little odd is all, you being here. Tonight. At this hour," James rambles, feeling a bit awkward. "One might wonder if you're up to no good, you know? Are you?"

Maybe it's his annoying prattling or maybe Vivian is just at the end of her rope, but this question makes her mouth turn down into a dark frown. She tries to sneer at him, but her voice comes out a bit too hollow to have much of an impact. "I told you there's no reason. Now leave me alone."

James raises an eyebrow at her. Sirius rolls his eyes. They seem to have arrived at the conclusion that, as usual, Vivian is just being obstinate.

"Oh come off it, Godr – " Sirius starts to say, his voice creasing with annoyance, and reaches over to grab her arm with the intent of pulling her up and demanding answers. Of course, he doesn't anticipate that this move will make Vivian gasp out the most harrowing sound he's ever heard and rip her arm away from him with a whimpering heave.

Well, this changes things, if nothing else. Actually, this changes quite a few things.

Sirius freezes, his hand still outstretched towards her from where she had forced it off her arm. His eyes rove over her face, tracing the pain that lines her features, watching her eyes fill with tears. He realizes that the stubborn part of him, which had been so convinced that Vivian is incapable of crying, is completely and irrefutably wrong, because –

There she is, bending over knees and burying her face in her sleeve and shaking with something that could only be silent sobs.

"…Merlin," James breathes, and steps back. He hardly knows what to do with a crying _girl,_ and so he's really quite out of his element when it comes to dealing with a crying _Slytherin._

Surprisingly, Sirius is not. He casts a look at James. A silent conversation shifts through their eyes, and then Sirius is reaching out to lay a hand on Vivian's back. It's a soothing touch, or at least it's supposed to be, but he feels her stiffen beneath his fingertips and he knows that she's still going to be stubborn. So after only a moment of this, Sirius heaves out a purposefully exasperated sigh and bends down to grasp her shoulders. He doesn't roughly force her up, but he doesn't give into her obvious desire to stay right where she is. Not even Vivian's stubbornness can hold a candle to his own.

"Come on, then. Up and at 'em," Sirius says, and nods in a pleased sort of way when she unfolds her legs and shakily stands up, helped along by the strong arm that he tucks around her. Later on, he will question his actions and wonder at the way he pulls her against his side, and why he feels this strange urge to protect her. He'll question the way he fusses over her – straightening out her cloak and brushing snowflakes from her hair. He'll wonder why the thought of touching his natural enemy doesn't make him balk or grimace with disgust, even as he leads her away from the church and down the street.

Yes, Sirius Black will wonder. James Potter will not.

"Where are you taking me?" Vivian demands, though her voice isn't nearly as fierce as usual. There are small tremors shucked between the words, making the entirety of her voice sound like it is seconds away from shattering. It is like a sheet of ice coating a lake as a warm breeze gusts over it, melting it just so and creating small fissures between the solidity.

Sirius and James glance at each other again from over her head. It is James who responds to the question as he pushes in front of them to take the lead. James who first catches sight of the raw, red fingers when they move beneath a brighter street lamp. James who slowly murmurs, "My house is just up ahead."

But – it is Sirius who tightens his grasp on Vivian's shoulders when she immediately freezes and tries to step away.

"Don't be stubborn," he tells her, and prods her forward again, a little gentler than she expects.

Vivian, though, is a maelstrom of reluctance, and she only sneers, "I'm not going to _Potter's_ house."

James and Sirius just roll their eyes at her and keep guiding her forward, even as she tries to struggle back.

"What, you think we're gonna hex you and lock you in the basement or something?" James mutters, pushing a hand through his hair and making it stick up in odd directions. "Merlin, Blair. We're not _you."_

Vivian curls her lip at him and opens her mouth to tell him that she would never even invite him into her house, let alone the basement of all places, but James interrupts to add, "Besides, it's Christmas Eve. If there was ever a night to call a truce, it's this one."

At this, Vivian pauses. This time it isn't due to an attempt to dig her heels in or to wrangle Sirius's arm off of her shoulders, but rather a hesitant confusion that catches her in the chest for a smattering of seconds before she realizes that he's right. It _is_ Christmas Eve.

"Oh – I forgot," she murmurs to herself, so quietly that Sirius barely hears her. But he does. Hear her, that is. He doesn't say anything in response, but he hears her nonetheless.

How does one _forget_ that it's Christmas Eve?

"Well here we are," James announces after another minute or two. Godric's Hollow is a small community. It doesn't take very long to walk from one end of it to the next, even though the Potter's residence is on the very edge of the village.

James opens the gate and steps into the quaint yard that is, at this moment, covered with snow. Even though it's very late, there are quite a few lights on in the house, and it lends an almost ethereal effect to the covering of snow. The window to the right of them boasts a picturesque Christmas tree standing proudly by the glass. The flickering lights cast colorful reflections.

Maybe it's because James is an only child, with no younger siblings (of course Vivian knows that – she needed to find out if there were any more aggravating Potters walking around Hogwarts – to be prepared you see), but there is a bustle of activity within the house even despite the late hour. The moment they step into the front door and begin to brush snow off their coats and shoes, a pretty woman with a wide smile ducks her head into the hallway.

"Boys! You were gone for a while, I was getting worried – oh, who's this?" she asks, brow creasing in confusion when her eyes land on Vivian. James opens his mouth to offer up some sort of explanation, but before he can manage it, the woman (presumably his mum) catches sight of Vivian's red, blistered hands and furrows her brows. Concern blazes through her eyes, the likes of which Vivian is not accustomed to seeing, and directed at her no less.

"This is Vivian," James awkwardly supplies as he unbuttons his coat. He hesitates, then hurriedly adds, "Vivian Blair. She's – a classmate."

The stiff introduction makes Vivian shuffle on her feet, only too aware that she does not belong here. This is _Potter's_ house. She never thought she would ever be _here_.

At her side, Sirius shrugs at Mrs. Potter, as if he's silently telling her that the situation is as unexpected to James and him as it is to everyone else. The movement seems to remind Vivian that his arm is still wrapped around her shoulders, and she makes a point of stepping away from him with a haughty, if not sullen, sniff. Sirius sends her a sideways glance, his eyebrow tilted up just so, but there's something in his eyes that almost looks like relief. Whether it's because he's no longer touching her or simply because she's acting a bit more like herself, Vivian doesn't know.

James glances over at the pair with skeptical eyes, as if he doesn't quite trust the situation. He can hardly be blamed, really. After all, it isn't every day that a _Slytherin_ steps into his house.

But Slytherin or not, Mrs. Potter doesn't appear to care. She bustles forward, eyes blazing with concern, and pushes the boys out of the way to get a better look at Vivian. She seems to be in agreement that Vivian is a sight for sore eyes – and not the good sort.

"Merlin, what's happened, dear?" she asks, but doesn't wait for Vivian's response before she takes her shoulder and peers down at her. The concern only grows when she takes in the flushed cheeks and wild, red-rimmed eyes. Vivian immediately looks away from her, feeling uncomfortable to be inspected so closely.

"Sirius, take her cloak," Mrs. Potter says, and lays a hand upon her forehead. Vivian is absolutely not prepared for the amount of fussing that is suddenly being bestowed upon her and jerks back in surprise, but Mrs. Potter doesn't even seem to notice. She's too busy turning her head and saying, "James, go and get the dittany from the storage closet." With that, she bustles into what Vivian assumes is the kitchen, based on the sight of the marble tiles in the doorway. The sound of her riffling through cabinets echoes into the hallway.

James, who is now in the process of kicking his boots off, throws another cautious glance at her before he ducks out of the hallway to do as ordered, leaving Vivian and Sirius standing alone in an awkward silence. She swallows tightly, casts a wild look around the place, and then rattles out a breath as she turns back towards the door. Merlin, she has to get out of here. This was the biggest mistake she's ever made.

She seems to be forgetting, though, that she isn't the only stubborn person in the room.

"Oh no," Sirius snorts, and grabs her shoulders before she can even take a step. "You are _not_ leaving. Don't even think about it, Blair."

Vivian shakes his hand off her, ignoring the pain that bursts through her at the movement. Her red-rimmed eyes are cast into a firm glower when she raises them to his, but Sirius only sends her a challenging look and cuts her off before she can say even a single word in argument.

"I don't know what happened to you tonight, but Mrs. Potter will kill me if I let you waltz off in the state you're in. Now give me your cloak."

Vivian tilts her chin up defiantly and hisses, "No. I don't need your help. I don't need _Potter's_ help."

Sirius glowers at her with just as much force and growls, "Yes you do. Stop being so damned stubborn."

She opens her mouth to tell him to piss off but Sirius is apparently done arguing with her, because he wastes very little time as he steps towards her and starts pulling at the top button of her cloak. And Vivian…well.

"What are you _doing?"_ she demands, glaring at him. She doesn't care that her hands are searing with pain. When Sirius tries to force her out of her cloak, she curls her raw fingers around his wrists, digging her nails into skin.

Sirius's eyes flash angrily at her when she does, and they end up in something of a stalemate. His fingers linger on the button while hers bite into his, and they just stand there glaring at each other for a long moment until Sirius mutters, "Let go."

"No."

"I'm trying to help you."

"I don't want your help, Black."

"Look at your hands, you idiot – I'll bet you can hardly hold your wand."

"Well it's not any of your business, _is it?"_

"It _became_ my business the moment I saw you wandering around James's childhood home."

"If I'd known you gits lived here, I wouldn't have come anywhere near this place."

"Why do you always have to be so fucking annoying? Just accept help when it's given – "

"This isn't help, it's _pity."_

"Who the fuck cares what it is? Point is, you're not leaving. Not now."

"You can't keep me here – "

"What's going on here?" a voice interrupts, and Vivian and Sirius jerk their heads up to see a rather tall man peering at them from the bottom of the stairs on the other end of the hall. His brows are furrowed, and the confusion in his eyes is apparent as he rests a hand atop the bottommost baluster, looking between the two of them with quiet bewilderment.

Messy black hair shot through with subtle silver, sharp brown eyes, lean form…this must be James's father.

Wonderful.

Sirius knocks Vivian's hands off of his wrists and turns to the older man. He clears his throat. "Er – well, it's a long story, Mr. Potter – "

He's interrupted by James's mum, who must hear her husband's voice because she pokes her head out of the kitchen. "Fleamont, there you are. This is Vivian, she's – Sirius, I told you to take her cloak. Vivian is James and Sirius's classmate. Now, I have water boiling and I know a fair share of healing spells (with these two as sons, it's practically a requirement) come here, dear. Let's get a better look at that injury."

Before Vivian can so much as take a breath, Mrs. Potter is bustling towards her and sweeping her cloak off her shoulders. There is a maternal insistence about her movements that is both assertive as well as gentle, and it surprises Vivian so much that she doesn't move to stop her. Before she knows it, her cloak is being deposited into Sirius's arms and she's being taken by the shoulders and led into the kitchen. Vivian has barely a second to look behind her and throw one more glower at Sirius (who raises a challengingly smug eyebrow back at her), before she is being led to a small kitchen table and delivered into one of the chairs.

Mr. Potter, still rather bewildered, sends Sirius a baffled glance before he follows his wife, leaving Sirius to hang Vivian's cloak on the rack by the door. As he lifts it up, a soft vanilla scent wafts from the fabric, and he is momentarily struck by a quiet sort of surprise. It's just – so soft and airy. It doesn't seem like a scent that Vivian would favor. Er – not that he's ever had a reason to consider such a thing before. He furrows his brows at himself and shakes the thought away as he casts the cloak haphazardly onto the rack before pulling off his own coat. It's as he's kicking the snow from his boots and pulling them off that James makes a reappearance, carrying a wooden box full of medical supplies.

Mrs. Potter's voice can be heard from the kitchen, but James pauses at the end of the hallway to share a solemn look with Sirius. No words are exchanged, but their friendship is deep enough for such things to be unnecessary. They both know what the other is thinking immediately.

Something has happened to Vivian Blair that has led her to this quiet, unremarkable village – on a whim? On purpose? – and their peaceful Christmas Eve is about to become a little less peaceful.

Mrs. Potter is tentatively trying to get answers out of Vivian when the two of them duck into the kitchen several seconds later, but she is being characteristically closed-lipped. Her discomfort is appallingly obvious, but it's clear that it isn't just her injured arms that brings it to the forefront. She surely hadn't anticipated that she would be sitting around James Potter's breakfast table on Christmas Eve, being fussed over by his mum while his father looks on intently across the way. Her restless unease is palpable.

James sets the box down in front of his mum before darting back to Sirius, who is lingering in the doorway with his arms crossed. Vivian's back is turned towards him, but he can see her arms as Mrs. Potter gingerly lays them on top of the table and begins to wave her wand over them. He watches the scene closely, brows furrowed, body tense, half expecting Vivian to make some sort of insulting remark. He won't have her being snappish with his surrogate mother, bless her. Mrs. Potter is an angel and frankly, he isn't convinced that Vivian Blair deserves her concern.

Yet Vivian doesn't say anything, or do anything, as she sits there. She strikes an almost skittish figure. He's never noticed, before, how slender her shoulders are. The thinness of her frame seems almost fragile, as if she could be blown away by an errant breeze. Her head is bowed just so as if she can't bear to look up, and her hands are fisted on the table's surface. The raw fingers shake somewhat atop the counter; tiny tremors that are just barely noticeable.

But Sirius notices. Why? Well, how could he not? Vivian Blair is sitting in the Potter's kitchen with blistered skin on Christmas Eve. _Of course _he notices. As for what he feels as he takes her in…that is not as easily recognized.

It's dark and impassioned and bitterly intense. It's chaos and fire; smoldering and banked on the edge of a hearth. He feels it in the bottommost parts of him, sinking down like a ship into the murky, unexplored depths of a great ocean. A limitless wave tears it down, grasping onto the mast and the hull and dragging it into the void, never to see the radiant day again.

Oh, no – the forceful bluster of his heart is not something he can readily identify, but he feels it nonetheless, sinking, sinking…

"Strange…" Mrs. Potter murmurs, waving her wand over Vivian's arms. The pain slowly lurches away, but the wounds do not fully close up, and she frowns contemplatively as she glances up at her tense patient. "How did you get these? It must not be a natural wound…"

Vivian doesn't raise her eyes to meet hers. She keeps them trained uncomfortably to the tabletop and just mumbles, "…An accident," giving no further explanation. Mrs. Potter looks as though she'd like to get more answers from her, but she merely purses her lips and puts her wand down, instead reaching for the medial box.

It's not as though Vivian is lying. It _had_ been an accident. Her father hadn't meant to harm her. She had been the one to jump in front of the spell. Her fault.

Her fault.

The dittany that Mrs. Potter is carefully applying to her skin prickles somewhat. It isn't overly painful, but Vivian still bites her lip and rattles in a sharp breath. Forcing the memories of tonight from her mind isn't so easily done, though, and she only clenches her fists harder as she recalls the fury in her father's eyes and the destruction of her possessions and the sight of her prized books curling in on themselves from the mountain of fire. And it isn't just these things that make her bite her lip so hard that the iron taste of blood invades her mouth – it's other things, too. Bellatrix's malicious eyes, that man writhing on the cobblestone streets, Rabastan's hand upon her back, Adrian's vindictive smile, the scent of firewhiskey. It's the heaviness of knowing that her house is full of Death Eaters and there is nothing she can do about it. It's the burden of realizing that she will _never_ be able to do anything about it; that her whole life will be just the same; that she will never escape from it.

"Sirius, you'll be sleeping in James's room tonight," Mrs. Potter suddenly says as she finishes up with the dittany and reaches for a roll of bandages. Sirius and James, who have been quietly whispering to each other in the doorway, immediately fall silent. The only sound that can be heard is Mr. Potter's chair as he shifts a bit, the wood creaking just so beneath his weight. And then –

"I couldn't possibly – " Vivian begins.

"I'll go tidy the room up, then," Sirius interrupts, much to Vivian's shock. She jerks her head up to look at him, but he's already walking off with James on his heels, and is heading upstairs before she can summon a response. The sound of their footsteps on the stairway fills the silence.

Vivian swallows and turns back to look at Mrs. Potter. Awkwardly, she clears her throat and says, "I'm…grateful for your help but I really don't think – "

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Potter says as she ties off the bandage on one arm and then starts wrapping the other. The dittany works quickly. The majority of the injuries are already healing over, but it will take some time before it heals completely. As she lifts Vivian's arm up to gingerly bandage it, Mrs. Potter murmurs, "You're James's classmate, after all, and it's much too late for you to be traveling. You ought to send a letter to your parents to tell them where you are, though. I'm sure Fleamont will scrounge up some parchment – "

The rest of her words fade into the background. Vivian barely hears them. She's too focused on this strange hospitality that she is being offered, just because she is James's classmate. She decides that perhaps it isn't a good idea to make mention of the many transgressions shared between them throughout the years. The insults, the pranks…

She supposes she shouldn't tell Mrs. Potter that she usually refers to Sirius as 'that blood traitor', or that she's hexed Pettigrew more times than she can count, or that she thinks her son is the most annoying prat she's ever met.

"I'll round up something for you to wear," Mrs. Potter is saying. "And it's really no trouble, dear. Sirius sleeps on the floor of James's room half the time anyway. They're always staying up well past their bedtimes, planning out those ridiculous pranks of theirs…"

Vivian bites back the urge to snort sarcastically at the thought of Sirius Black having a bedtime. Thankfully, James's parents don't seem to notice.

"Now, are you hungry?" Mrs. Potter asks, finishing off the last bandage and leaning back to look at her. Vivian pauses at this question and opens her mouth to tell her 'no', but her stomach seems to have other plans. Having completely forgotten that she hasn't eaten since that afternoon, the mere mention of food reminds her that she is actually famished, and her stomach lets out a low grumble as if to prove it.

Before Vivian can respond, a loud crash sounds from upstairs, followed by wild laughter. James's indignant voice can faintly be heard through the floorboards, but the words are too muffled to hear. Mr. Potter, who has been silent thus far, sighs in exasperation and mutters, "No peace, not even on Christmas Eve."

Mrs. Potter laughs fondly at him. "That's what we get for having boys, Robbie. Now – dinner. I'll just heat up some of the roast for you, Vivian." She continues to say something about potatoes and onions and green beans, but Vivian is once again thinking of other things, and hardly hears her.

Namely, she's thinking about how Mrs. Potter has referred to Sirius as her own son. It's odd. Vivian's heard a bit about the Black drama from some of her fellow housemates, but she doesn't know much about what had happened to push Sirius out of his family home. Regulus doesn't talk about it and she hasn't asked. It's not exactly a topic that is easily brought up. Still, she feels quite curious about it all of the sudden. Sirius does seem to be very much at home here. Despite the fact that he isn't related to the Potters, he's treated like their own.

"So…Vivian," Mr. Potter says, drawing her attention away from her thoughts. "Do you have any siblings?"

Ugh. Small talk. Vivian sends James's father a grimacing smile that doesn't reach her eyes and mumbles, "No, I don't."

He can probably tell that she's not in the mood for chitchat, because Mr. Potter clears his throat and murmurs, "Ah…well I'm sure your parents will be worried about you. Shall I go get some parchment and a quill? I've got one lying around here somewhere…"

"I doubt they'll be worried about me," Vivian mutters before she can stop herself, and then shifts awkwardly when Mrs. and Mr. Potter exchange a glance and turn to study her a bit more closely. She hurries to say, "They're busy. They – have a lot of guests tonight."

Well it isn't a _lie,_ now is it?

"…Ah. Is that so?" Mr. Potter hedges, clearly not knowing what to say to her. He clears his throat.

An awkward silence falls upon the kitchen, broken only when Mrs. Potter lays a plate in front of her. It's laden with meat and potatoes, more than Vivian can eat. In fact, though the meal looks delicious and she had been quite hungry a moment before, the thought of those guests at her house makes her stomach roil in protest, and she isn't sure she wants to eat anymore. Still, Vivian isn't completely rude, so she picks up her fork and takes a halfhearted bite. Mrs. Potter is watching her for her reaction, so the next bite is a little less halfhearted for her sake.

By the time she eats as much as she can, James and Sirius reappear in the kitchen. The sight of her eating at their table seems to put them into a state of momentary shock. Vivian just ignores them, though it's rather difficult to do when she can feel their eyes on the back of her head, watching her every move.

"I expect you're tired, dear," Mrs. Potter says, and throws a firm glance at the boys as if silently telling them to stop being rude.

James immediately clears his throat. "Right. I'll show you to Sirius's room. Er – _your_ room," he corrects when Sirius throws him a look.

Vivian hesitates for a moment before standing up. The chair scrapes loudly against the tiled floor. She fiddles with the rolled up sleeves of the button up shirt she'd hastily put on before leaving home, and tugs down the sleeves when she catches Sirius staring at her arms.

There is no fucking way she's staying at _Potter's_ house tonight.

"No that's fine, I'll just – "

"Go back home?" Sirius interrupts, and crosses his arms.

Mrs. Potter shoots him a warning look, but he's too busy staring at Vivian. Vivian hesitates for the briefest beat of a second before muttering, "Yeah. Home," but the pause is long enough for Sirius to catch onto. His eyes gleam knowingly at her.

"My parents _will_ be worried, probably," she hurries to say, wishing she hadn't made any mention of said lack of worry to Mr. Potter, who is looking at her quizzically now. She shifts her weight and adds, "I'm sure they're wondering – where I am."

She doubts it. They probably don't even know she's gone.

Still, she mumbles, "…I should go back."

She shouldn't. She won't. She'll go to Diagon Alley, instead. She's got enough coin to stay at the Leaky Cauldron, right? She'll apparate there and –

"I already cleaned the room up, though," Sirius says, cutting through her thoughts. He raises an eyebrow at her. Grey eyes flash with awareness, as if he can hear her train of thoughts.

Vivian purses her mouth at him, but he just elbows James, who quickly adds, "Right! We just set up a bed for Sirius in my room. I'll bet you're exhausted, Blair. Come on, then. We'll show her up, mum!"

Before Vivian can wrangle herself away, James's arm slips around her shoulders and he drags her to the kitchen door, humming to himself all the way. The move is so unexpected that Vivian finds herself being pulled to the stairs before she can stop it, half convinced that this is all just some weird, nightmarish dream that she'll wake up from at any moment.

"I'll be up soon to see about some night clothes, Vivian!" Mrs. Potter hollers from the kitchen, but Vivian is already being dragged up the stairs and doesn't exactly have a chance to tell her not to bother.

Merlin – why are these two idiots so adamant about her staying here, anyway? She's their sworn enemy, right? Shouldn't they be a little more cautious about inviting enemies into their homes? Why, if either one of them had ended up on her front porch, she would have hexed them and told them to get lost. The fact that she doesn't have a front porch is besides the point, as is the notion that neither one of them would ever step foot on her property to begin with.

Well, at least she thinks so in that moment.

But Vivian Blair thinks a lot of things that aren't true. Like the fact that she will never become friends with these gits, and she will never again sit at one of their tables to eat a meal, and she will never again let them see her vulnerable, and she will never – _never_ – go to sleep curled up in sheets that smell distinctly like Sirius.

"Come off it, Blair. We both know you've got nowhere to go right now," Sirius says as James swings open the door at the end of the hall and pushes her inside. "It's obvious," he adds, and leans against the threshold as she takes a suspicious look around the space, as if she's expecting one of their stupid pranks to pop out at her.

But no – there are no dungbombs rigged over the doorway. It's just a normal room, really. Well, as normal as a room that belongs to Sirius Black can get.

"What the fuck are _those?"_ she snidely questions, feeling a bit more like herself as her eyes lock onto several pictures that line the opposite wall. "Is that a _motorbike?"_

Sirius looks slightly offended. "That's not just any old motorcycle, Godric. That's _Eileen._ For Merlin's sake – are you hearing this, James?"

James snorts. "It's blasphemy, truly. You ought to know better than to insult Eileen in front of Sirius, Blair. He's very protective of her."

Vivian turns around to raise her eyebrows at them. In the driest voice she's ever used, she wonders, "…Eileen? That's literally the stupidest name ever."

Sirius's mouth drops open. James crosses his arms and smirks at the drama.

"Eileen is a _great_ name. You know what, Godric, just for that I'm taking my pillows."

He storms over to the bed (that's coincidentally done up with a red duvet – wonderful) and grabs the two pillows that are propped up against the headboard.

Vivian just eyes him like she thinks he's an idiot and scoffs, "Good. I'm not staying here anyway."

Her stubborn adamance makes the two boys roll their eyes at her. James shakes his head. "Look Blair, I don't care if you stay. In fact, the thought of you staying at my house literally sounds like a nightmare. Unfortunately my mum is an angel – "

"She is," Sirius agrees.

" – and has this bad habit of taking in all sorts of strays – "

"Hey!"

" – but you obviously had a rough night and since it's Christmas Eve, we might as well just call a truce and be done with it. So. Ground rules, Padfoot?"

Sirius, having quickly gotten over the 'stray' remark, nods. "Right. Rule number one: don't mess with any of our things."

James nods. "Rule number two: don't be all 'I'm-an-evil-Slytherin-who-hates-blood-traitors' to my mum."

"Rule number three: don't insult Eileen."

"Rule number four: don't ever tell anyone I let you stay at my house. I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Rule number – "

Before Sirius can finish his next rule, Vivian reaches for her wand and waves it at the red duvet. It instantly turns a nice emerald green – a much better color, if you ask her – and Sirius instantly starts spluttering.

"Hey! Change that back! She already broke one of the rules, Prongs!"

"Rules are meant to be broken," Vivian immediately says.

Sirius hesitates, gaping at her for a moment before muttering, "…Normally I'd agree with that, but – "

"Boys, it's way past your bedtime! Now clear out so Vivian can get dressed," Mrs. Potter suddenly says, appearing in the doorway behind James and Sirius. This time, Vivian can't help but snort in dry amusement, which only makes the both of them glower at her.

"You heard her, Black. It's past your _bedtime,"_ Vivian smirks. And though the smirk isn't nearly as malicious as it usually is (it's missing something – some inherent spark, some wayward flame), it still looks distinctly Slytherin.

Sirius frowns at her and mutters, "Just don't mess with anything else," as Mrs. Potter herds them back into the hallway and steps into the room. She shuts the door with an exasperated expression before stepping over to the bed and putting a pile of clothes onto it.

"I'm sorry we don't have anywhere else for you to sleep, dear, but I'm sure Sirius doesn't mind bunking with James tonight. He's a good kid," she idly says She glances down at the emerald green bedspread with a raised eyebrow, but doesn't comment.

Vivian bites back the desire to tell her that Sirius Black is _not_ a good kid and she's quite sure that he _does_ mind, thank you. Instead, she merely nods grudgingly and says nothing.

Mrs. Potter sends her a small smile. "I'm sure you'll be spending Christmas with your family, but you're welcome to stay for breakfast." Then, pausing, she adds, "Vivian, are you…are you sure that your parents won't worry? I don't want to be the cause for their concern…"

Vivian doesn't know how to answer that. Will her parents worry? A few weeks ago, she would have said yes, but everything is so confusing now and she doesn't know anything anymore. They _should_ worry. They are her parents, after all, and what parent doesn't fuss over their child? Just because her family has somewhat strained relations with one another doesn't mean that there is no love between them.

Her silence makes Mrs. Potter frown. She takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and sighs, "I don't want to pry, dear, but are you sure you're all right? I'd feel a lot better if I knew where you got those burns from. Is everything okay at home? Should I contact someone about it?"

Vivian takes a step back and immediately says, "No – that is, everything's fine. There's no need to – and anyway, if you'd rather I go somewhere else tonight, it wouldn't be a problem – "

"That's not what I meant," Mrs. Potter cuts in firmly. "You're welcome to stay the night, but I would like some answers in the morning, dear. It's not every day that James and Sirius come home with an injured classmate, and things are starting to get very dark these days, what with all the attacks." She casts another silent glance at the emerald bedspread. Her eyes give away her thoughts.

She wants answers from the injured _Slytherin_ classmate.

Vivian shifts uncomfortably. "…Yeah. I understand. Thanks for…letting me stay."

James's mum, angel or not, sends Vivian a soft nod before standing up. "There's a washroom down the hall. If you need anything, my room is just next to it. Goodnight."

Vivian watches her leave silently, muttering 'goodnight' just as the door swings shut. She vaguely hears her voice, no doubt saying something to her biological and surrogate sons, but Vivian doesn't pay attention to it. Instead, she tosses the borrowed clothes onto the chair by the bed, having no intention of wearing them, and shakily sits down.

She still doesn't know how she got here, of all places. It seems like a bizarre dream that plays upon her mind over and over again; a broken record set to repeat itself for eternity. She can't seem to wrap her head around the dizzying events of the night. She especially can't believe that, only a few hours ago, she was sitting with Regulus in Lucius Malfoy's wintry garden, seeking solace from her father and Adrian.

Well, she certainly has solace now. No one would ever look for her here. The thought doesn't exactly make her feel any better, though, so she just gingerly lays down and curls up on the bed, grumbling to herself about the fact that Sirius had stolen the pillows. What a conniving little arse.

Still, as she buries her head in her arms and presses her face against the now emerald green bedspread, she breathes in and out and pushes the night away with every exhalation, trying not to think about where she is or question why she hasn't left yet.

Maybe it's because the spicy cedar scent that she buries her nose into is strangely calming. Maybe it's because there is something here that is invisibly tethered to her soul. What it is, though – well, Vivian Blair doesn't know that quite yet. She is only just beginning to figure it out.

It is the prologue to the story; the introduction to a book. The first page has been read, now, but –

There are many more pages to go.


	32. Hoc nocte

**Chapter Thirty Two | Hoc nocte **

**[Tonight]**

The stairs creak. It's frankly annoying. Her heart is near to bursting out of her chest as Vivian slowly makes her way down them, hoping to Merlin that the Potters are light sleepers.

Perhaps some explaining is in order, though in Vivian's opinion, said explaining is hardly necessary. She is, after all, is her arch-enemy's house, on Christmas Eve – and damn her own soul if a couple of stupid injuries are going to keep her here. What is there to explain, anyhow? As if she's going to actually stay the entire night at a blood-traitor-infested house. Now that she's calmed down enough to properly think about everything, she can't believe that she had even allowed those two gits to drag her here to begin with. For the purpose of the omniscient viewer, though, let us take this scene back half an hour.

It's three o'clock in the morning and Vivian can't sleep. Oh, she had given it a sterling effort – even drifted in and out of dreams for a while – but she is a creature of habit and this unfamiliar room is not doing it for her. Never mind the fact that it happens to belong to _Sirius Black_. She feels like she's surrounded on all sides by Gryffindors and there's no way she's waiting till the morning to leave. The thought of sitting down for a hearty Christmas morning breakfast isn't the issue in itself; the company most assuredly is.

She will not eat breakfast with Potter and Black. And besides that, she isn't going to let his mother interrogate her about things that she has no business sticking her nose into. Vivian hadn't asked to stay the night, after all. She doesn't owe anyone an explanation.

Right. Which is why it would be far easier to get the hell out of here while she still can. She'll head off to the Leaky Cauldron and pay for a room, or maybe she'll just go back to the Blair manor and pretend as though she had never left to begin with. Maybe her parents haven't even noticed that she's gone. Maybe she can sneak back in through her window and forget that tonight had ever happened. She's certainly not going to acknowledge it once she returns to Hogwarts in a few days. If Potter and Black think anything has changed, they're dead wrong. She still hates their guts and truces don't last forever.

And so here she is, moving as quietly as she can, shuffling her way down the stairs and wishing she had paid more attention to learning healing spells because the dittany has definitely worn off and her arms are searing. Like any Slytherin worth her weight in silver, though, she grits her teeth and carries on. Once she gets outside, hopefully the bite of the winter air will distract her from the pain.

Her satchel is somewhere nearby. Where had she last put it? In the dizzying spiral of events leading up to her arrival here, she'd hardly noticed that it was missing from her side. It's too dark to see anything very clearly, so she gingerly wrangles out her wand from her back pocket and whispers, _"Lumos,"_ to help with her search. Her fingers ache a bit as she waves the wand to summon the light, but she ignores the pain.

She reaches the last step and lets out a sigh of relief when her feet touch the hallway rug. She's just passing the doorway of the kitchen – eyes flickering with relief at the sight of her satchel sitting idly beneath where her cloak is hanging – when fortune decides to fuck her over.

She probably shouldn't be surprised. She has the worst luck.

"Couldn't sleep, Godric?" Sirius fucking Black drawls from somewhere behind her, and Vivian lets out a startled gasp as she spins around clumsily. Well, it seems as though she has a _little_ bit of luck tonight, at least, because she doesn't trip in the process. Of course, that could have something to do with the way Sirius appears from out of the darkness to catch her shoulders, but she's not sure if he's trying to steady her or cage her.

She tilts her chin up to look at him. Her wand is still producing light from her spell, and it casts his face into harsh shadow. Grey eyes reflect down into hers, bearing that knowing gleam. His sudden appearance is so unexpected that for a moment, all she can do is gape at him silently, her mind spinning for some sort of excuse –

"Water," she gasps. "Just getting a – drink of water."

Sirius doesn't seem to buy it, but for the sake of her half-arsed cover up, Vivian knocks his hands away from her and ducks into the doorway of the kitchen to follow through with her flimsy pretenses. She starts opening cabinets in her hunt for a glass, and he leans against the threshold and simply watches for some moments before striding forward to assist. His eyes flicker with amusement as he silently hands her a glass. There's this annoyingly smug look on his face when she grudgingly takes it.

Still, despite the fact that she hadn't come down here to get a glass of water after all, she finds that she's actually quite thirsty. She ignores Sirius as she gulps the water down, a little too quickly. Her hastiness has absolutely nothing to do with the way his intense stare is _potentially_ making her nervous, of course. (As if!) Vivian Blair does _not_ get nervous around Sirius Black. (Honestly!)

Her mind scrambles for a plan as she slows down, realizing that the moment she finishes her water, she'll have to face him again. This momentary lapse in conversation is just that: momentary. Sirius seems to be content with waiting it out, showing off a rare bout of patience as he leans against the counter and studies her.

Should she go back upstairs and try again in an hour, or just take her leave regardless of his presence? Sirius shouldn't care either way. Surely, his appearance has nothing to do with her. By all rights, he should want her to leave as soon as possible, and she almost expects him to say it aloud. But – strangely enough, when she tips the last drop of water back and puts the glass onto the counter, Sirius reaches out to grasp her arm and pull her out of the kitchen without a word. Of course, the brief pain that flickers through her body at his sudden touch makes her angrily shove his hand off of her, which in turn seems to make him remember that she happens to be injured.

He stares at her for a long moment before sighing and reaching for his wand. He steps over to another doorway that branches off of the hallway. One flickering wave later and a pleasant, dim light beams out of the room. Vivian stands in the outer circle of it, still half immersed in the darkness of the hall and the bright light from her own wand, before he raises an eyebrow at her and says, "Hurry up, then."

He disappears into the room, leaving her standing in that circle of light. She's half tempted to make a run for it now that he's not staring so intently at her, but something in her gives her pause. For now, let's call it pride, in which Vivian is in generous possession of. Later on, we shall call it something else entirely, but it is a little too soon to refer to it by any other name.

Vivian is too stubborn to understand the strange side-effects that seem to pop up whenever Sirius is nearby. She's too conceited to think that they mean anything other than extreme dislike. The lurch of her stomach at his proximity is a significator of her discomfort to be near him; the breathlessness is only because the thought of having to talk to him annoys her. Yes – and the reason she tentatively follows him into the room, abandoning the shadows of the hallway, is because she knows he's a stubborn arse who will probably follow her if she tries to leave. This is the easiest way out of this confusing situation, and there's nothing more to it.

Ah – the easy road! She doesn't know, in this moment, that she is about to make things so much harder for herself. This is not the easy road after all, really, but her heart seems to think that it is. And while Vivian Blair doesn't have much experience in following her heart, tonight she listens to it. Tonight, she falls for her own excuses.

She will fall in other ways, too, but she doesn't know it yet, and won't know it for some time still.

Sirius is sitting down on the couch when Vivian hesitantly steps into the room. In appearance, he seems entirely casual and nonchalant as he leans back and stretches his legs out in front of him, but there is a tense, unyielding quality to the air that lessens his relaxed position. His eyes are still intense – still swirling with the traces of that tempestuous grey. When their gazes clash, his brows furrow just so as if he's trying to puzzle her out. That he seems to be failing only makes her feel a sense of vicious satisfaction.

"Sit down," he offers. His voice is as casual as the rest of him, but there's something in his tone that makes it sound more like an order.

Vivian leans against the threshold and drawls, "Why should I?"

Sirius eyes her. Then he gestures to the wooden box that's sitting on the table in front of him and impatiently says, "The dittany's worn off, hasn't it? Sit down."

Her eyes flash towards the box. She pauses, and watches as he rolls his eyes at her hesitance and leans forward to riffle through it. The small bottle of healing potion that he sets on the table's surface looks almost like a peace offering, but this is Sirius Black, and Vivian doesn't trust it.

Still…her arms are really starting to ache again…

She sends him a suspicious glance. Sirius looks like he wants to snap at her for being so damned stubborn. The thought of annoying him a little bit more is tempting, but the pain in her arms overrules the desire to piss him off just for the hell of it, so Vivian grudgingly steps towards the couch without another word.

No – words come after, when Sirius reaches over to uncap the bottle, seemingly intent on treating her wounds himself.

"I can do it," she mutters at him, and rolls up her sleeves. Sirius just snorts and firmly sets the bottle back down. He seems to have decided that she isn't worth the trouble anyway, and doesn't make a move to help her as she clumsily unrolls one of the bandages that is wrapped from her elbow to her hand.

As she shakily pours some of the dittany solution onto a rag, Sirius drawls, "So what happened that made you run away from home?"

The question makes her freeze. She knows he's watching her reaction even though his eyes are trained to the Christmas tree that is lighting up the corner of the room. He's probably aware that her breathing has gone shallow and that her shoulders are stiff and that her movements are clumsier. He may be an insufferable git, but Sirius Black isn't _always_ an idiot.

In a sneering voice, she bites, "I didn't."

He snorts. It's such a skeptical sound.

"Please. You forget that I've been here before. I know what it looks like."

She looks over to send him a scathing glare. "I didn't _run away,_ you prat. I – "

"You just thought you'd have a nice walk around town, in a place you've never been, on Christmas Eve," he helpfully supplies, and sends her that knowing look. She opens her mouth to tell him off, but apparently he isn't done quite yet. "Yeah, because _that_ makes perfect sense. It would be hard to believe even if you weren't crying pathetically into your cloak, sporting third degree burns. Playing with fire must be a Christmas tradition."

It's difficult to describe the hatred that Vivian feels for him in that moment. His sharp perception wouldn't be so bad if it was slightly more understanding, but his voice is self-righteous and judgmental, and when he says 'crying pathetically', it's drawled in an insulting tone. Whether he means for it to be or not hardly matters. She can hear that edge of his scorn clear as day. It shifts just so beneath his voice and breathes into his words with a vengeance.

The way she bristles at it is hardly unexpected. The events immediately following, though, are. She turns to snap at him, fingers digging into the cloth that is soaked with dittany. As she does, she accidentally knocks over the bottle, sending it skidding right off the edge of the table and onto the rug beneath. The accident seems to make them forget about the harsh words being exchanged as they both make a dive for it. In the insanity of the moment, they end up knocking their heads together in a truly spectacular feat.

Not to sound overly cliché, but perhaps it is this happenstance that changes the atmosphere between them. Sense is returned. The process of butting heads inserts a certain proclivity towards rationality that had not been felt between them before. As Vivian groans and rubs her head, falling back against the couch – and as Sirius grumbles a bit and grabs the overturned bottle before leaning forward and running a hand over his injury – something transforms the spaces between them.

For a long moment, they just sit there, seemingly lost to their own worlds. And then Sirius hears the oddest sort of sound from his wayward and unexpected companion. It is almost a sniff, almost a gasp. When he turns his head towards her to see what the source of it is, he realizes that Vivian Blair is wiping away tears.

Now Sirius Black is not accustomed to dealing with crying females. That said, as a self-declared lady's man, he is somewhat familiar with the baffling emotions of the female race, but they are just that – baffling.

"You didn't hit your head _that_ hard," he blurts out, and then immediately cringes when Vivian sends a glare his way. Right. Wrong thing to say. He clears his throat, considers asking her if she's alright, then chickens out and instead just drags her arm into his lap and mutters, "Let me do it."

She tries to wrangle herself free, but Sirius only gives her a firm look and begins to treat her burns with more dittany. Thankfully, only a little of it had spilled, and the bottle is still half full when he soaks some of it onto the cloth. Vivian falls into a stony silence and apparently gives up, letting him dab her arm with the solution as she closes her eyes and battles with her wayward emotions.

Sirius's movements are surprisingly gentle. The dittany has an immediate effect on her burning skin. Relief sinks into her like a cool breath of air, but the results of it are dizzying at best. Without the pain of her injuries taking up space in her thoughts, Vivian's mind turns to other avenues.

Her father's furious eyes. Adrian's vengeful smirk. Regulus's quiet care. And – other things. Bellatrix and Diagon Alley and Rabastan Lestrange's hand upon her back, guiding her towards the green flames. Borgin and Burkes, burnt organza and her prized books collapsing into ash and – that man, writhing on the cobblestones, spine bent at an almost impossible angle and voice cast into an almost impossible pitch…

It _is_ possible, though, but she hadn't realized it until she'd seen it for herself, unable to draw back and ignore it. That is, after all, what Vivian Blair does. She has never realized it before now, of course, but the truth comes sweeping into her like rattling bones: she has spent her whole life ignoring the things that do not intrinsically fit into her world. Anything that does not have a place is put to the side and forgotten. Anything that threatens to alter her lifestyle is overlooked.

But how can she overlook this? How could she possible _forget?_

For is this not an intrinsic part of her life now? This hatred of muggles and those of lower birth. This desire to cause pain; to inflict suffering. It doesn't matter that she does not share this hatred or this desire. It has suddenly become tethered to her world in ways that it never was before, and she can no longer ignore it.

"…Vivian?" she hears, and realizes with a jolt that she's staring broodingly into the distance and that her cheeks are wet. When she turns to look at the man who had voiced her name (her _name,_ not 'Godric', or 'Blair', or some scathing insult - ), she sees that Sirius is staring at her with bewildered eyes.

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Vivian reaches up and angrily wipes away her tears, jerking her arm out of his grasp and making to get up. She should expect the way he grabs her shoulder and pushes her back down. She should expect it all, really, but her mind is too foggy and unclear, so lacking in the usual sharp clarity that she prides herself in – and she doesn't.

Sirius turns, hitching his knee onto the couch so as to angle his body towards her, and quietly asks, "Why are you crying?"

There is a strange solemnity to his voice when he asks the question. She's never heard it from him before. She's only ever heard his voice cast into smugness or arrogance or that annoying drawling tone he uses whenever he's trying to one-up her.

"Why do you care?" she mutters. She doesn't expect a response, but tonight is a night that seems to be overturning quite a few things she thought were set in stone. Like the fact that Sirius Black apparently has the ability to be gentle, when he wants to, and quiet, and careful – even if he probably doesn't mean to be, not with her.

His mouth tightens somewhat, but his voice is still quiet when he gives her that unexpected response. "I don't know what happened to you tonight, but I think it would be pretty inhumane of me if I didn't care. I guess I can't blame you for thinking that, though." He pauses, as if he's waiting for her to agree with him. Normally, she would. Normally, she'd say something about how he doesn't have a caring bone in his body, but tonight is different. Tonight, she just sits there and angrily scrubs at her face with injured hands and tries to think only about how her salty tears make the burns sting.

Sirius swallows tightly and murmurs, "…Look, I know you want to leave, but shouldn't you at least stay the rest of the night? Your parents can wait until morning and – "

"My _parents_ are the reason I'm like this," she hisses angrily, and immediately regrets it.

Sirius falls silent. For the first time ever, she wishes he would fill the quiet with some of his stupid prattle.

"…Your parents did this to you?" he says at last, sounding surprised. There's something else in his tone, but Vivian doesn't know what it is. She'd claim it to be some twisted form of over-protectiveness, but this is _Sirius Black,_ and she isn't that naïve.

Her voice is a little bit weaker, a little bit shaky, when she whispers, "…It was an accident."

It was. It was.

Her father would never hurt her intentionally. Still, however unintentional it had been, the betrayal still stings more than the actual injury.

She doesn't know how many seconds pass. All she knows is that suddenly Sirius is clearing his throat and murmuring, "Wait here a moment." Then he is standing up and leaving the room, and Vivian is furrowing her brows and watching as he disappears into the dark hallway.

He returns a minute or so later, carrying two glasses. There's a bottle of what looks like firewhiskey tucked under his arm. When he places it onto the tabletop, he sends her a strange sort of grimacing smile, as if he doesn't really know how to move his mouth into a less awkward expression. She stares, silent as the grave, as he pours her a glass and shifts it towards her, then gets up again to rummage around in a nearby cabinet.

"I know just the thing…" she hears him mumble to himself, and watches in confusion as he starts going through a collection of what looks like books. They aren't books, though. They have no pages or binding, and when he pulls one out and takes off the cover of it, it's all black with two odd circles in the middle of it.

Vivian, who hasn't touched her firewhiskey, is distracted enough by the strange oddities that she momentarily forgets about her woes. She has eyes only for him, watching like a hawk as he kneels down in front of an equally strange, boxy contraption and shoves the non-book into one of its slots. Then, to her utmost shock, he presses a button and the contraption flickers to life.

Now Vivian hasn't been around enough muggles to understand their strange inventions. She'd stopped taking Muggle Studies the first moment she could, when it was downgraded from being a core part of the curriculum to an elective. The only thing she really knows about the muggle world has to do with literature. She wouldn't have expected that the Potters would own anything from their world anyway, seeing as they're technically a pureblood family (blood traitors aside). Later on, she will learn that this thing Sirius is now fiddling with is called a 'television', and the non-book he had fed it is called a 'VHS', and that this is what muggles do when they're bored or something. She will learn that the people walking across the box are not real – that is, they are 'recorded', and do not see Vivian in the same way that she is seeing them. But for now, until this is all explained to her, she gapes at the contraption in shock and wariness, leaning back into the couch as she stares at the pictures that shift over the screen Sirius is kneeling in front of.

"What the fuck is that?" she demands. "Who are they? What's – "

"It's Pride and Prejudice," Sirius interrupts.

Vivian now turns her gaping eyes to him, quite ruffled at the thought of him knowing what Pride and Prejudice is. She opens her mouth to demand answers (troubled thoughts very much forgotten in the confusing spin of the last few minutes), but before she can voice any of her questions, Sirius stands up and strides back over to the couch.

"Isn't that what you like to read? I was looking for something to watch the other night and found it. Apparently Mrs. Potter is an Austen fan too. Now shut up and watch."

Vivian keeps gaping at him.

"But – how do you know about Jane Austen? What _is_ this thing? It's _creepy_ – "

"It's a _tele,_ Blair. A muggle thing. And really, did you honestly think I wouldn't find out who Austen is? I'm almost insulted that you think so lowly of me," Sirius sniffs, and pours himself a glass of firewhiskey as words begin to appear on the screen. He glances over at her untouched glass and grouses, "What, do you think I poisoned it or something?"

Vivian drags her eyes away from the strange contraption that is now spewing music and mutters, "…Can't be too sure, with you."

Sirius smirks at this and starts to say, "I guess that's fair enough – "

But then Vivian is hissing at him to shut up and is leaning forward to watch as two men come riding onto the screen on horses, dressed in top hats and fine waistcoats. The tails of their outer jackets fly out as they push their horses forward, galloping across an open field before suddenly drawing back on the reins.

"_It's a fair prospect. Pretty enough, I grant you. It's nothing to Pemberley, I know, but I must settle somewhere. Have I your approval?"_

"_You'll find the society something savage."_

"_Country manners? I think they're charming."_

"_Then you'd better take it."_

"_Thank you, I think I shall! I shall close with the attorney directly."_

Vivian feels the corner of her mouth edge up. "Is that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy?" she asks, sounding somewhat incredulous. "And that house – Netherfield Park?"

Sirius raises an eyebrow at her but doesn't respond. Vivian doesn't even notice him. She stares at the muggle television with amazed eyes, stunned that one of her favorite novels is being portrayed in front of her so vividly. She's never seen anything like it and it utterly captivates her. As for Sirius, well, he's rather captivated himself.

It's probably because he's never seen Vivian in such a state before and it's all a novelty to him. It's also probably due to the fact that he's never actually sat next to her doing something so strangely normal before. Well, normal for him, at least. The Potters are purebloods, but they prescribe to what Sirius likes to call 'the modern lifestyle', in that they don't balk at muggle ways and find muggle inventions to be fascinating. This inclination is partially what labels them as blood traitors, but it is precisely why he loves them so much. When he had first come to live with them, he hadn't understood what this television was either, and had actually had a very similar reaction to it. It's rather amusing to see the same reaction playing out on Vivian's face as she stares wide-eyed at the scene being portrayed in front of them.

"That's Elizabeth!" Vivian exclaims, looking completely awed.

Sirius holds back an amused laugh and reaches for her hand again, intent on continuing with the dittany while she watches the tele. She's too distracted to notice at first, but when she does, she sends him a warning look that Sirius rolls his eyes at. When it's clear that he's not messing with her, though, she just ignores him entirely, too swept up to notice his gentle movements or the lessoning sting of her burns as the dittany is applied to them.

After a few minutes of this, Sirius snorts, "You're like one of those muggle kids whose parents sit them down in front of the tele to keep them occupied."

Vivian has no idea what he's talking about, but she shoots him a glare nonetheless. "Shut up," she tells him, just to be thorough.

Sirius only smirks, her words falling off of him like rain. Vivian doesn't notice or care, because she's too busy watching Mrs. Bennet hurriedly inform Mr. Bennet that Netherfield Park is being 'let at last!'.

Some minutes later, Sirius finishes rebandaging her arms and leans back to watch the movie in silence. He's never seen it before, and to be perfectly honest, he thinks it's a bit boring. But Vivian doesn't – that's clear enough – and after a while he finds himself watching her, instead. It isn't really something he does consciously. In fact, he hardly even realizes he's doing it at first, until Vivian seems to realize that he's staring at her and glances over at him.

Their eyes clash, and for a long moment, they just stare at each other as the Christmas tree flickers in the background and the television screen lights up the room.

"…What?" she demands. Her voice is still a bit scratchy from the tears that she had managed to press back, too distracted by Pride and Prejudice to remember her previous inclination towards crying. Sirius is studying her in a strangely compelling manner, and Vivian finds that it is rather difficult to look away.

Oh, but how strange it is, that her stomach feels suddenly as though it is sinking, and her breath is shallower, and those odd shivers are once again taking a hold of her. These annoying side-effects seem to be popping up whenever Sirius is nearby. She's starting to wonder if he's done something to her – some sort of prank or something – to draw them forward.

Quite suddenly, the engrossing story being played out in front of her isn't nearly as captivating as he is.

"…Just wondering when you're going to tell me what happened," Sirius slowly murmurs, still staring at her as if she is a mystery that he wants to unravel, piece by frustrating piece.

Just as slowly, Vivian narrows her eyes at him and mumbles, "I don't know why you want to know so badly."

He doesn't know why, either. It surely isn't because he cares for her. That would be ludicrous. Is it because there is something brewing out there in the world that is dark and frightening and somehow, he knows that Vivian must be a part of it – in some way, in some manner, if only because she comes from a pureblood family similar to his own? Yes, that must be the reason. This must merely be a need to understand what is going on, because Vivian Blair would not be so out of sorts unless there was a specific reason for it.

She is always so composed, strutting around with far more confidence than she ought to have. It's just so strange to see her like this. She appears so _human_.

"They're trying to recruit you, aren't they," he says. It isn't a question.

Vivian stares at him in shock. The movie is suddenly quite forgotten.

"…I don't know what you're talking about," she breathes, and turns back to face the screen. But the pictures that play out aren't properly viewed, and she's too busy thinking about that man again – writhing in the dirt and snow as the _Cruciatus_ curse levels him to the ground. Her fingers shake.

Sirius tightens his mouth. "You don't have to play dumb, Blair. It only makes sense that they would try to recruit all the young purebloods. So what happened? Did you get those burns because you did something to anger them?"

His questions are starting to annoy her now. She glares at the screen and scowls, "I told you – these were accidental – "

"Yeah, and I believe that as much as I believe that the earth is flat," Sirius snorts.

She swings around to face him and hisses, "My father found out that I went into muggle London, okay? He burned my book collection and I tried to stop him. That's all. Now stop sticking your nose into my business."

Sirius's mouth drops open. In an incredulous voice, he repeats, _"That's all?"_ Then, in an equally incredulous voice, he adds, "Wait – you went into _muggle London?"_

Well that's sort of…er, well, sort of impressive, really. That Vivian Blair has a rebellious streak, that is. He never would've thought…

Vivian instantly regrets her blurted, thoughtless words. As if Sirius Black needs to know about the intricacies of her life. She glares at him and angrily reaches for her untouched glass of firewhiskey, tipping it back to take a large gulp of it. The liquid sears its way down her throat.

"But you _hate_ muggles!" he says, a little louder than he means to. His voice carries through the room and he grimaces, glancing at the doorway and hoping that he hadn't woken anybody up. He definitely does not need James questioning him about why he's sitting in the living room watching a movie with Vivian Blair, of all people. Come to think of it, why _is_ he doing this?

Merlin, tonight is a weird night. First Vivian shows up out of the blue in Godric's Hollow, hurt and acting in a way he never thought he'd ever see. Then Mrs. Potter makes him clear out his room for her so that she can stay the night. Then he catches her trying to leave in the middle of said night, feels bad enough to treat her wounds for her, tries to distract her by putting on a movie that he'd known she'd love, and – what is wrong with him? This is not how Sirius Black should be acting around Vivian Blair. Is it?

"I never said I hate muggles," Vivian snaps at him, and reaches for the bottle of firewhiskey to refill her glass. "I've already told you: they're obviously below me but I don't hate them."

He bites back a scoff and watches as she takes another large sip. But even as she pauses to drink, apparently she isn't done talking.

"Honestly, you're such a fucking idiot. You don't bother looking beneath the surface of anything. The world is so black and white for you," she mutters.

"That's not – "

"Why do you hate me so much, anyway? Because we were betrothed when we were kids? Is that it?" she suddenly demands, much to his shock.

It's his turn to gape at her. He definitely hadn't expected the conversation to turn towards this particular topic. Mention of their broken betrothal aside, he never thought he'd have to validate his hatred in such a way. To be honest, he doesn't really know how to respond. Does he need to have a reason to hate Vivian Blair? He thought they just hated each other for the hell of it. Isn't this baseless, groundless loathing the foundation of their entire relationship?

Very ineloquently, Sirius splutters, "You're – Slytherin – "

Vivian rolls her eyes at him and slams her glass down onto the table. The noise cuts him off better than words ever could, but it's her eyes that really make him fall silent. They're so strangely earnest, in an almost bitter way, as if she's exasperated and exhausted and vexed all at the same time. When she speaks, her voice is bathed in those things, but most of all, she sounds _tired_.

"Slytherins aren't all destined to become dark wizards. Maybe most of us just don't have a choice. Maybe we just don't know what else to do, besides follow in our family's footsteps."

Maybe she won't have a choice either. The thought occurs to him quite suddenly, and with it comes a strange boldness that buffets through him like a hard wind.

"We all have a choice," he tells her, sounding more solemn than he has all night.

Vivian stares at him, but she isn't really seeing him. No – she's seeing Bellatrix slashing her wand and wreaking havoc on the shops in Diagon Alley. She's seeing Mulciber holding his left arm out to her, waiting for her to roll up his sleeve. She's seeing Regulus's intense eyes when he had told her that even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't be able to back out of his fate now. It's already locked in stone, never to be shaken.

Vivian looks down at her bandaged hands and smiles bitterly. And Sirius – he sighs and stares at her bitter smile and tentatively murmurs, "…Do you _want_ to join Him?"

The question is just shy of encroaching. In any other moment, it would be, but not in this one. There is a strange honesty at work here, in the creases between them, that is not easily ignored. Vivian doesn't ignore it either, though a part of her thinks she probably should. Still, when she mumbles, "…No," she is glad that she says it, because it _is_ true, and it feels good to acknowledge it.

Even if she's acknowledging it in front of Sirius Black.

He stares at her with those intense, stormy eyes, and whispers, "I'm glad to hear it."

She glances over at him and dryly asks, "Why?"

He shrugs. "…I don't know. I just am."

She raises an eyebrow, but, what with her red-rimmed eyes, the haughty expression that blazes over her face isn't nearly as arrogant as it might have been.

"Why did you stop me from leaving?" she suddenly asks him. "In fact, why did you take me in at all?"

The question makes him pause, but – well, the honesty in the air is difficult to overlook, and he just slowly responds, "You needed help."

Vivian purses her mouth and mutters, "…I wouldn't have helped you, if our situations were reversed."

At least, she doesn't think she would have.

Sirius just shrugs and reaches forward to pour more firewhiskey into their glasses, and says, "Well you're a self-serving Slytherin."

And even though it's obviously an insult, there's something in his voice that makes it sound almost as if he's joking, and Vivian doesn't take as much offense to it as she normally would. Instead, she feels the edge of her mouth tilt upward into a tiny smile. She reaches for her glass and leans back against the couch and casually retorts, "Better than a temperamental Gryffindor."

If Sirius smiles when he hears this, Vivian doesn't know. And if there's something strangely sentimental in his voice when, a few minutes later, he murmurs, "By the way, Happy Christmas, Blair," well…

Vivian is much too busy watching Mr. Darcy stick his nose up at potential dance partners to care. Ah – and if she says it back, it's only to honor the inane truce that they had formed for the night. There's no other reason, of course. She doesn't care if his Christmas is happy or not.

Nor does she care that his presence is oddly comforting, or that, as the movie continues into the night and her eyes get heavier and heavier, she ends up leaning into him without realizing it – or that when she wakes up hours later, she is shucked up against his body with his arm wrapped around her waist and her head tucked beneath his neck.

At first she doesn't remember where she is, only that she's warm and safe and content, and the arm around her body is rather nice, and the scent that she is breathing in is downright enthralling. Her eyes flicker open groggily. The first thing she sees is the Christmas tree in the corner and the grey dawn in the windows. The second thing is the television screen flickering with a black and white fuzz. But it is the third thing she sees that really shocks her, for when she lifts her head and realizes that Sirius is stretched out by her side, his face composed in the restful quality of sleep, Vivian can do very little but look at him in bewilderment.

She draws back and just stares, taking in his relaxed expression and peaceful breathing. His hair is mussed up; it falls into his eyes in a rather adorable way, and –

"Merlin," she breathes, and then slaps a hand over her mouth because the noise seems to disturb him a bit. She watches with baited breath as he shifts and then stills again, falling back into the depth of sleep.

No. No, he is not adorable. He's repulsive.

Vivian scowls at him and pries his hand off of her waist, maneuvering out of his arms and wondering how she had ended up tucked into his side like that. Surely he hadn't meant to reach out to her. Sirius Black might not care for boundaries, but there are some lines even he wouldn't cross. This whole thing had been a tremendous mistake, and now in the light of early morning, Vivian realizes just how _much_ of a mistake it really is.

How could she have allowed herself to come here? To let him prove to her that he is indeed occasionally kind, and sometimes gentle – to let him see her in such a vulnerable state? Why had she told him all those things last night? And – fallen asleep next to him! She must have gone momentarily insane!

Drawing in a breath, Vivian clenches her jaw and moves to stand up. The moment she shuffles away from his side, she feels aggravatingly cold. That she is nearly tempted to return to the couch annoys her like nothing else.

How dare he do this to her!

It's too early for anyone to be getting up any time soon, but Vivian knows that if she doesn't leave now, she'll be stuck here for the foreseeable future while Mrs. Potter wrangles the truth out of her. She'd already had one accidental heart-to-heart with a boy she hates. She won't be doing it again. So she rolls her sleeves down over the bandages and turns towards the hallway, but finds herself hesitating before she even takes a step.

She doesn't know why she does it, really. It's a silly, sentimental gesture that doesn't make sense. Maybe it's because he hadn't been as much of a git as usual – or maybe there's another reason, buried deep within her, rankling the edges of her heart just so. Regardless, Vivian doesn't stop to think about her actions as she reaches up to undo the silver jasmine hair piece that's still clipped into her hair. She doesn't allow herself to think as she lays it down onto the table and draws out her wand, pausing to gather herself before waving it over the flower. She doesn't do anything at all as she watches her magic sweep through it, making the silver petals gently blossom and the whole thing come to life.

She glances back one last time to look at Sirius, but –

Her heart doesn't shift at the sight of him, and she doesn't feel any of those unknown side-effects. That would be a stupid thing to think. After all, Vivian Blair's hatred for Sirius Black is practically written in the stars.

But there are many things that are meant to be, and many things that are not, and though she does not know it yet, she is only scratching the surface of this so-called hatred. A constellation has many stories – layers upon layers of mythologies and legends – and theirs is only just beginning to unfold.


	33. Animus et prudential

**Chapter Thirty Three | Animus et prudential **

**[Courage and discretion]**

Bravery has many sides. It isn't always breathed in fire, fearless and heroic. Sometimes, it is doing what needs to be done; an owing up to your faults and your mistakes. Sort of like right now.

Her father's study has never felt so cramped before. Vivian almost wishes she had went to the Leaky Cauldron after all, but she's sure that her parents would have found her and brought her back faster than they could blink, and besides, she doesn't think that it's a good idea to rock the boat any more than it's already been rocked. It had taken more courage than she can admit, to return home. She's still reeling from it all, to be honest. Being brave is exhausting.

Before this moment, she hadn't thought that she could be brave. Those sorts of fearless emotions are left for the Gryffindors of the world, and she is most certainly not a Gryffindor. But – what was it that Dumbledore had said? – it would be a dreary place if we didn't all possess traits from every house, and Vivian is beginning to realize that Slytherins have their own brand of courage.

Oh, it isn't like the golden glamor of a true Gryffindor, full of audacious confidence and foolish daring. No, this is unyielding and persistent, perhaps a bit selfish even, but it's there all the same, burning through the inner creases of her heart as she stands in front of Lukas Blair's desk and lifts her chin to meet his eye.

"Dittany, I presume?" he drawls, his voice held in check by a generous helping of haughty nonchalance. Still, there is something else paving its way through his eyes as he carefully unrolls the last of her bandages to look upon the damage he had caused her. Vivian wouldn't go so far as to say it is guilt – he is too stubborn for such expressiveness – but it seems to share a border with remorse and all the emotions therein. At least he feels a _little_ bit bad about this whole thing.

Vivian looks down at her arms and quietly responds, "Yes…it hurt too much to go to sleep and – I found some in the bathroom cupboard…"

She doesn't know if her father believes the lie or not, because his face doesn't change. To be honest, she doesn't know if her parents are even aware that she had left at all. They haven't said a word about it all morning, leading her to believe that perhaps they have no idea what sort of night she'd had, or where she's been, or with whom. This is probably just as well, because she's quite sure that they would be very displeased if they knew that she'd ended up at the Potter's house.

Her father doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he merely nods and leans back against his desk, crossing his arms and peering down at her. There has always been something intimidating about her father. He's always reminded Vivian of the darkness in a forest, when you look between the trees but aren't able to see beyond them, for there are too many and the grey weather casts more shadows than usual upon the terrain. It is mysterious and obscure, almost possessing a secretive sort of perplexity that is not easily worked out; like pieces of the picture have been purposefully taken away to ensure that the mystery remains absolute. She doesn't know what he's thinking as he looks down at her. It is all hidden beneath the dark brown of his eyes.

Sometimes, she thinks it's amusing that she shares more physical characteristics with her father than she does with her mother. She has his chocolate hair and his pale skin. She has the same eyes as him, too – fiery, when angered; muddy, when not. His temperament is hers. His inclination towards reading is hers. The only part of Isobel Blair that lives within her is her ability to dampen her emotions and exude a certain coldness of demeanor. Vivian has never been able to appear mysterious like her father. Instead, she just blocks herself away entirely, like the snowy landscape that unfurls beyond the window.

"Last night was…unfortunate," her father says at long last. He looks almost broodingly calm, which is a far cry different from the untampered fury that he had showcased the night before. It is like he is a different person, now.

Vivian breathes in to ensure that her voice does not shake, and responds, "I'm sorry about what happened, father."

He expects an apology, and while this might not be Gryffindor bravery that rattles through her as she stands here and administers it, it takes a precise sort of courage to do it at all. To run off to Diagon Alley and hide away until the end of Christmas break – she isn't sure whether such an action would be courageous or weak. In the interim of this morning's grey dawn, as she had stood in front of the Potter's front gate and looked out into the untouched world, she had decided that running away is not something she is going to do. She has yet to decide if it had been foolish or not, but even now as her father carefully appraises her, she is glad to have returned.

This is her home, and she has much to think about. The only way she can truly figure out which direction to move in is to throw herself directly into Fate's path.

Is this not courage? Allowing yourself to be buffeted about by whatever destiny is to be yours…does that not take an endless amount of determination?

Her father stares at her for a moment longer before he lifts his hand and snaps his fingers. Vivian watches as Wispy makes a sudden appearance, popping into the study sheer seconds upon being summoned. She turns her head to glance at the house elf, but the small creature doesn't meet her eyes. She's been trained to respect the family that she works for, and looking at any of them directly is something that her father loathes.

"Get fresh bandages, Wispy," her father orders, and then turns to the chair behind his desk and takes a seat. Wispy quickly nods and scurries towards the door. Lukas Blair also hates it when his help apparates in and out of his office. Usually the elves are banned from stepping foot in this place unless specifically called.

"Sit down, Vivian. I think we ought to speak about last night. It would be a discourtesy not to."

Vivian nods, and deposits herself into the chair that faces the desk, gingerly setting her hands in her lap. The dittany that had been applied the night before has healed the majority of the burns, and now her arms only ache a little as she carefully lays them across her thighs.

Her father steeples his fingers in front of him and sighs, "You know why I had to punish you. Acts of rebellion won't be tolerated here, and it was the only way to make you understand. You live beneath my roof, therefore you are expected to follow my rules."

He pauses, waiting for her to acknowledge his words. Vivian sends him a nod, but she doesn't say anything. Thankfully, the nod seems to be enough.

"The muggle world is a filthy place, Vivian. I'm glad that Adrian was looking out for you. Yes, it may have seemed cruel of him to come to me with that information, but I'm sure you've had enough time to realize that he was doing it for your own good. He…cares for you."

At this, Vivian bites the inside of her cheek and stares at the enchanted paperweight on her father's desk. It's a simple thing shaped into a glass orb, but the dancing, foggy colors that swirl through it make its simplicity beautiful. As a child, she used to sneak into this room to look at it while her father was away and her mother was otherwise occupied. She would put it on the windowsill and watch the sunlight spin the colors upon the walls, transforming the whole of the room with dazzling light. There is something oddly sinister about it now, though. The pastel colors are overcrowded by shadows – dark emerald and sapphire blue and amber brown, so dark that they seem black.

"The Mulcibers are a fine family. Strong. Pure." Her father nods as he says the words, almost as if he's talking to himself. He raises a hand to rub the carefully trimmed scruff that covers his jaw and hums, "Their son will no doubt live up to their legacy. Perhaps he'll even take it further than it's ever been before…"

The amber falls into a darker brown. It's nearly the color of her father's eyes – _her_ eyes. Shoots of red fissure through it like trails of lava flowing over rich soil. It starts off as a rosy pink, but as it breaks into crossroads and branches, it becomes a deep, crimson red.

Vivian's never much liked red. It's too bold, too obnoxious. Too Gryffindor.

"It is my hope that we might announce your engagement before the year is through."

Too brave.

"To be honest, your mother and I weren't sure the betrothal would go through, at first. That bloody list follows us everywhere, it seems…"

The sacred 28 – that silly list that was written up decades ago, detailing the families with the purest blood. If there's anything her father hates most of all, it's being seen as having lesser blood by his fellows.

"…But Adrian has taken a liking to you, and his parents have decided to honor his decision…"

Now, the crimson is a bright ruby color, and it nearly overpowers the brown entirely as it thunders its way through the glass. Mud turns to chestnut, and then to copper, and then to brick – until the whole of it is gleaming with such a bright and voracious tone that it's difficult to look away.

"Father, could I borrow some of your books?" Vivian abruptly asks, so suddenly and offhandedly that it makes him blink at her in surprise.

"I – my books? Whatever for?" he asks, too bewildered by her unforeseen question to force the topic back to her untimely betrothal.

Vivian studies the blinding ruby and slowly says, "You said that I could read them, if I ever wanted to, and I don't exactly have any reading material at the moment."

Her father's eyes shift into a frown. "Vivian, we've gone over this – "

"I know. It was stupid of me to read books written by muggles. I was bored, is all," she interrupts, pushing the lie into existence as easily as breathing. She stands up and walks over to the nearest bookshelf. Her father's gaze fall upon her like a hard rain pelting against the earth. She can feel the force of it bearing into her skin even as she begins to apathetically peruse the titles of his collection.

_Curses of the 7__th__ Century, Dark Enchantments, The Unforgivable Curses and their Uses, Fiendfyre: An Application…_

She slides her finger over the spine of, _The Power of Genetic Curses, _and slips it from the shelf. Vivian takes a moment to curiously leaf through it, and murmurs, "Is that all, father? I'm actually a bit tired. After I reapply the dittany, I might take a nap." She tucks the book against her chest and glances over at him before adding, "The burns are really quite painful.'

There's the slightest hint of that remorse that presses into Lukas Blair's eyes when she says that last bit, and apparently it's enough to make him agree to end the conversation here. He eyes her in an almost cautious manner as he stands up and walks over to her side. His gaze flickers down to the book she's holding before he reaches out to grasp another one.

"This is a particular favorite of mine," he says, and hands it to her. Despite the lingering displeasure of discovering her trip into muggle London and her possession of irreputable books, there's a certain gleefulness to his demeanor as he watches her glance down at the title. He's always wanted her to express more interest in the Dark Arts. That she suddenly is seems to make him forget that the last twenty four hours had happened at all.

_The Dementor's Kiss_ blazes from the binding of the book she is now holding, its silver lettering gleaming against the black leather cover. Vivian stares at it for a long moment before she quips a smile at her father and tucks it against the first book.

"Is it alright if I come back for more when I'm finished with these?" she asks.

Her father actually smiles at her. He very rarely smiles. It's quite strange, how the expression softens his haughty features to such a degree.

"Of course," he tells her, looking vaguely proud.

She nods and turns towards the door. As she takes her leave, the glass orb still burns like fervent crimson fire upon her father's desk, singular and uncommonly exclusive in its coloring. But, as she glances at it, she sees a hint of green burgeoning through it with manipulative finesse, slowly choking the crimson. Like smoke, it curls its wispy fingers around the red like a snake might wrap itself around its prey – bones breaking, lungs shattering, shivers absorbing into scales – until, at the last moment, its fangs bear down in a sickening crunch and the whole of it is swallowed with an encompassing emerald. The red shutters out just so, replaced by enviable green.

A much better color, if you ask Vivian Blair. It blends in, you see. Like a chameleon, it is unpredictable and apathetic. It does not boil with emotions or let sentiment get in its way. It forges a path of its own, quietly cunning; keenly resolute.

She was wrong, before, when she began to doubt the characteristics of a Slytherin. When she began to wonder if perhaps there is a darkness within her house that is universal in its potency and impossible to shake. For all her hesitance and all her weaknesses, she was wrong. She sees it now, quite suddenly, as she closes the door of her father's study and turns towards the hallway.

Darkness does not make a Slytherin. A true Slytherin is careful and plotting; slow to act, like a chess player maneuvering his pieces across a board; and yes, selfish maybe, but only because there is a necessity in character to ensure that they stay one step ahead. Self-preservation, was it?

She tightens her grip on the books and tilts her chin up as she bustles down the corridor. In the words of Sun Tzu, knowledge is power, and knowing her enemy is the first step to –

Well, at this moment in time, Vivian Blair has no interest in overcoming anyone. For now, it is merely a need to prepare herself to maneuver around the latest chess board that she finds herself on. This is Slytherin grit swept up into Gryffindor bravery. The two have not yet merged into one, but make no mistake: one day they will.

* * *

_Dear Vivian,_

_How was your Christmas? My brother sent me a rare quill made from a Heron feather and enchanted ink that writes whatever you're thinking. I've no desire to try the ink out but I do like the quill. You'll be pleased to know that thus far, I have used it to write up a list of responsibilities for our dear Head Boy. If he thinks he'll be getting out of contributing to the coming term, he's dead wrong. _

_My parents have been talking almost nonstop about the recent attack on Diagon Alley. I'm sure you've heard of it. It's been on the front page of the Daily Prophet for three days in a row now. Things are getting pretty crazy out there. I hope you're doing alright out there in the country. At least you're a little removed from it all. Anyway what are your plans for New Years Eve? My parents are inviting a few people over. You mentioned feeling a bit suffocated in one of your previous letters. If you can find a way to, you're welcome to stop by. My mum makes the best roast chicken imaginable._

_Let me know if you're interested,_

_Gavin_

* * *

_Clarke,_

_I am unfortunately busy on New Years Eve. My family will be attending an insanely boring party. Another time, perhaps._

_I'm very pleased to know that you've been putting the quill to good use. I can't wait to see the look on Potter's face when he sees the doubtlessly long list of responsibilities you've come up with. I'd say that Dumbledore made a mistake by not making you Head Boy, but to be honest, it's probably just as well. Watching you get all nazi-prefect on Potter is great fun, but I'd rather not experience it for myself._

_Vivian_

_PS If you're not going to use that ink, I could think of a few people to try it on…_

* * *

_Dear Vivian,_

_That's a shame, it would have been nice to hang out with someone I know. Oh well. The week is almost over and we'll be returning to Hogwarts soon anyway. As for being made Head Boy, I'm actually rather annoyed that Dumbledore thought James would make a better one. He does practically nothing besides patrol and abuse his authority. He's the last person that should be running the school, honestly! Also, I am not a nazi-prefect, I'm just very passionate about rules. Don't be flippant! _

_See you at Hogwarts,_

_Gavin_

* * *

"My mum made this especially for you, Rem," James says. "You've got to have at least one slice or she'll get all offended and think you hate her cooking."

Ah. The old 'you don't like my food?' trick. The oldest in the book. Apparently it isn't just Italian mothers who use it – English ones seem to have taken a page out of their books. Crafty ladies, the lot of them.

Sirius nods sagely. "Yeah, and that never ends well."

"She'll end up trying to stuff food down our throats until we leave," James sighs.

"And she'll be constantly fussing over whether or not her grandmum's chocolate cake recipe is really as good as everyone says it is," Sirius adds.

Remus laughs and shakes his head. "I never said I wouldn't have a piece. Honestly."

James beams. "Good! That saves us the trouble of having to console her after you leave."

He cuts a generous slice of chocolate cake and, as he's depositing it onto a plate for Remus, Mrs. Potter pokes her head into the kitchen with a wide smile.

"I thought I heard your voice, Remus!" she says, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress robes and sending him a pleasant grin. "Oh, give him another piece, James dear. Remus loves chocolate, doesn't he? This is my grandmum's recipe, you know, and everyone always tells me – "

"That it's the best thing they've ever had," James smoothly cuts in, finishing his mum's sentence. He's heard it often enough that he's got it memorized.

Mrs. Potter lets out an amused laugh and reaches over to ruffle her son's hair.

"You look lovely, Mrs. Potter," Sirius compliments from the table, where he's got his arm slung haphazardly over the back of his chair. He sends his surrogate mum one of his best 'I'm-such-a-gentleman' smiles, which soon turns innocently naïve when James shoots him a look over Mrs. Potter's shoulder.

Right. It's New Year's Eve, and the Potter's usually hold a party at their house every year. It's become something of an annual thing. In recent years, it's grown quite a bit, and a good portion of the neighborhood ends up popping in at some point during the evening to take part in the celebration. What was originally a small get-together at its onset has since turned into a much larger affair. Tonight, all four Marauders are dressed to accommodate the festivities.

Mrs. Potter beams at him. "Thank you, darling. And don't you clean up nicely! You should brush your hair out more often, Sirius dear."

Over to the side, Peter snickers, "He prefers the 'shaggy dog' look, Mrs. Potter."

Sirius wrinkles his nose at him as the rest of them laugh. Well, everyone but Mrs. Potter, who raises her eyebrows at the boys and seems to realize that it's an inside joke. It's probably just as well that she really doesn't care to know.

"Well anyhow, it's nice to see you all together again. I can hardly believe that it's your last year at Hogwarts," Mrs. Potter sighs as she walks over to collect a few stemmed wine glasses, probably for her guests. As she deposits a few of them on a tray, she pauses, and turns around with a contemplative look on her face. When Sirius notices it, he grimaces.

He knows exactly what she's about to say. She's been saying it all week, after all, in some form or another. Mrs. Potter is indeed an angel, because her incessant worrying over one Vivian Blair is something only a true saint could do.

"James, Sirius…I really think you ought to at least send an owl, you know? Just to make sure things are – "

"Mum, I've already told you, it would probably be ignored," James interrupts, sounding a bit exasperated. This is most likely due to the fact that he has, indeed, repeated this several times now.

Sirius nods and quickly adds, "Yeah, Mrs. P, she's really not the sort to talk about emotions, you know? In fact, I'm not even sure she has any emotions to begin with."

Well – that's a lie, actually. He did see her cry, after all. But still, it's the principle of it all. As the French would say, c'est la pratique normale.

"…We must've missed something," Peter murmurs to Remus as they watch a crease form between Mrs. Potter's eyebrows.

With a sigh, she says, "I feel responsible for her and I wish you'd just send a simple owl to make sure that she's okay. She ran off before I could really find out what was wrong – and those burns! If it's serious, I should like to know."

"I'm sure she's _fine,_ mum. She was clearly just having a moment," James says.

"She's probably blocked it from her memory by now anyway," Sirius nods. "She's not exactly the sort of person who would associate herself with people like us."

James hums in dry agreement and mutters, "Yeah, she's probably back at her manor, right as rain, completely uncaring that my family took her in out of the goodness of their hearts and she just walked off without even a thank-you!"

"Oh come off it, James, did you really expect her to say thank you? I doubt those words are even in her vocabulary," Sirius scoffs.

Peter glances over at Remus and hisses, "Who are they talking about?" He doesn't much like being left out of the loop – a rather unfortunate event that happens to occur with relative frequency, no matter the occasion. Seeing that Remus is also out of the loop, though, the only response he receives is a bewildered shrug.

Mrs. Potter purses her lips. "Whatever your connection is to her, I would still like to make sure she's okay. Honestly – all I'm asking is a simple owl!"

On the surface, her request really isn't that big of a deal. Of course, Mrs. Potter doesn't know the relationship that the Marauders have with Vivian, or of the years of pranks and insults thrown back and forth between them, or any of the disregard that they have treated each other with since their first year at Hogwarts. So really, it actually is a rather monumental thing to ask of her sons. They can't just send a letter to Vivian Blair. That would be _weird_.

"She'd probably murder Fredrick," James mutters, referring to their family owl with an expression of extreme protectiveness.

Sirius snorts in agreement. "She'd probably burn the letter, too, and not bother replying."

They glance at each other and nod. Mrs. Potter sighs. Remus and Peter look on with increasing confusion.

"Could someone tell us what's going on?" Remus asks as he takes a bite of his chocolate cake. It really is the best thing he's ever had (Hogwarts desserts included, which is saying quite a lot), but he doesn't have time to compliment Mrs. Potter, because his two friends apparently aren't done yet.

"Yeah, I mean, you've got a heart of gold, Mrs. P, but you really don't know who you're dealing with here. Vivian Blair is a piece of work," Sirius says, shoving a hand through his hair.

Remus promptly chokes on his cake. Peter chokes on, well, nothing. Perhaps air.

"V-Viv-Vivian _Blair?_ You've got to be – _kidding_ me!" Peter cries. Merlin, he is so tired of Vivian Blair coming up in conversation! Even on his holidays, he can't catch a break!

Mrs. Potter looks rightfully confused at this reaction, but before she can question the reason for it, her husband steps into the kitchen. He's presumably looking for her, because he immediately says, "The Richardson's just arrived and they're asking after you – let me take those. Hullo, boys! Good to see you!" Then, scooping up some of the wine glasses, he nudges his wife into the hallway without another word. Which is probably just as well, because words seem to be a challenge to procure at the moment.

Remus finally manages to swallow the bite of cake he's been choking on and calms down enough to skewer his two friends with a look that they know fairly well by now. It's a look they've seen many times before, usually when they had gone rogue with one of their pranks and hadn't bothered informing him of it. It's an expression that includes furrowed brows and sharp eyes, and it basically means: 'tell-me-what-you-did-right-now-or-so-help-me-god'.

Ah yes, Remus Lupin has certainly perfected such an expression, and the two boys that are currently on the receiving end of it usually take it fairly seriously.

"Yeah, we've got a lot to tell you," James says, pushing his glasses up.

"A _lot,"_ Sirius adds, rather unhelpfully.

To be honest, neither of them know where to begin, and so after this monumentally verbose admission, they both fall silent and nod at each other until Remus rolls his eyes and puts his half-eaten plate of cake down on the counter. He grabs Peter's arm and tugs him towards the stairs.

"Let's get going, then," he says. "If Vivian was at your house then we need to know about it."

James and Sirius just sigh at each other and move to follow.

* * *

"So let me get this straight. You were out gallivanting around town on Christmas Eve, doing whatever it is you two do when you're alone together – "

"I don't think I like what he's implying, Prongs."

"Shut up, Sirius – and you found Vivian Blair sitting on the steps of your local church, injured and crying, and you finally managed to find that little sliver of humanity that we've all been wondering about – "

"I think that one was for you, Padfoot."

" – Took her in, let her sleep in your house, and then she just _vanished_ sometime during the night and neither of you know where she went off to or what happened to drive her here to begin with? Didn't you ask her any _questions?"_

"Sure we did!"

"Yeah, _loads_ of questions!"

"She just didn't answer any of them."

"Cause she's a conniving little Slytherin who doesn't care that my mum's an angel!"

Across the room, Peter exchanges a look with Remus, who is growing more and more exasperated.

"And…uh, well, I should probably say that I actually _did_ get some answers out of her…later on. After James went to sleep," Sirius adds, sounding a little bit reluctant to share this information with the rest of them.

James turns to stare him in surprise and says, "You didn't tell me – wait, what you do mean 'after I went to sleep'? You _didn't_ sneak into her room."

Not that Sirius Black sneaking into a girl's room in the middle of the night would necessarily surprise him, of course, but…well, this _is_ Vivian Blair, after all.

Sirius shoves him and gruffly says, "Of course not! Why would I do _that?"_

James can actually think of a few reasons, but he just snaps his mouth shut and narrows his eyes at Sirius. Instead of calling him out on these potential reasons, he just says in a betrayed voice, "You _live_ with me and you didn't tell me any of this! I've allowed my mum to take you in and shower you with the love that should be _mine_ and you didn't – "

"What did you find out, then?" Remus thankfully cuts in.

Sirius shrugs. "Not much. Just that she got the burns because her father found out that she went into muggle London. It was some sort of accident or something – "

"_Muggle London?_ I can't believe you didn't tell me this," James grouses.

"Look, it's – private, okay?" Sirius snaps at him. The other Marauders turn to stare at him with varying expressions of surprise, so he adds, "She was a right mess."

There's something about the tone of his voice that makes his friends fall silent, apparently realizing that it isn't a joking matter. Well, that's what _James_ realizes, anyway. The rest of them already know it.

"So…what happened, then?" Peter speaks up. "Did you find out anything else?"

Sirius shrugs again. He seems to find the ceiling of James's room _quite_ fascinating, because he doesn't look away from it for a moment. His lips part – he's about to tell them about Pride and Prejudice and the dittany and the silver flower that was blooming on the coffee table when he'd woken up to find her gone, but – he ends up swallowing the words and instead, just mumbles, "Not really. She left before Mrs. Potter could interrogate her."

Why does he want to keep these things to himself? He tells his friends _everything_. There's just something about _this_ that he wants to hold onto to. It doesn't feel right, sharing it.

Vivian's red-rimmed eyes flash through his mind. Shaking shoulders, burnt hands.

_Better than a temperamental Gryffindor._

His mouth quirks up.

"…You know what you ought to do, Sirius," Remus says, watching his friend closely. The tiny smile isn't overlooked, but he doesn't draw attention to it.

Sirius turns his head and sends Remus a confused look.

Remus raises an eyebrow. Without explanation, he stands up and walks over to James's desk to hunt down a spare quill and an unused roll of parchment. It takes him a moment to find a piece that isn't covered with half-thought out Quidditch plays, but when he does, he turns back to Sirius and waves the quill in the air.

Sirius gets the message loud and clear. It takes him a moment (mainly spent gaping at Remus silently), but after his initial surprise wears off, he immediately exclaims, "I've already told Mrs. P that I'm not writing to her! There's _no way_ you can make me!"

Remus sighs. "True, I can't make you and I wouldn't even try to, but it's the right thing to do."

"…It would be weird," Sirius retorts.

"Probably," Remus agrees.

"I won't do it."

"Okay. It was only a suggestion."

Sirius frowns and mutters, "Well good. Don't suggest it again."

Remus sighs once more, but he _does_ understand Sirius's reluctance. Owling Vivian Blair to make sure she's okay after spending a night at the Potter's – a night that she probably wants to forget had ever happened at all – is asking a lot of him. To be fair, Remus isn't sure he'd be able to do it either.

"Come on. I left my cake downstairs and your mum is probably wondering what sort of trouble we're getting into," Remus says after a moment, and heads to the door. James grunts out an agreement and goes to follow, slapping a hand on Sirius's shoulder as he passes him. Peter meanders behind them. As for Sirius, he takes his time, getting up slowly and shooting a thoughtful glance at the abandoned quill that Remus had dropped back onto James's desk. He stares at it for a moment before snorting to himself and ducking towards the door to follow his friends.

It's only later that night, once the party has died down and everyone has left, that Sirius returns to this thought. It's more of an accident than anything, really – brought upon by the sight of a constantly blossoming flower that's sitting on the windowsill of his room, its silver petals quietly falling to the wayside before magically blooming all over again, and again, and again –

He scratches out one sentence, and can just imagine Vivian rolling her eyes at him as he does it, but he sends it off before he can think about what he's doing.

_Godric, _

_Alright now?_

It isn't until the middle of the night that he receives a reply. Frederick has not been murdered, and the letter has not been burned and ignored. In fact, at first, he thinks that it hadn't even reached its mark at all, because when he sleepily opens it up, all he sees is his own message scrawled over the parchment. Until, of course, he looks closer.

Beneath the unsigned question is a one-word reply, but it's a reply he never actually expected to receive, considering who had penned it.

_Yes, _she wrote. And that's it.

It's strange how that stupid word makes him so incredibly relieved. The whole thing had probably been a mistake. But…then again, maybe that's how love takes root.


	34. Caeca invidia est

**Chapter Thirty Four | Caeca Invidia est **

**[Envy is blind]**

It's a strange thing, standing on platform 9¾ as the Hogwarts Express waits for its students to step through its crimson doors. The steam that billows out of the stacks drifts up into the sky, creating white plumes that intermix with the frosty morning air. Its paint gleams with the sun's crisp light, which reflect off of it just so with a quietly blinding force. Yes – it's a strange thing, to think that months before at the end of the summer, Vivian had stood here in this very place, looking at this very sight, and yet for all the similarities of that moment and this one, she is not the same.

Where does the difference lie? Well, perhaps it would be more apt to ask another question: how could she _not_ be different?

" – I expect good marks," her mother is saying at her side, being fussier than usual as she runs her fingers over Vivian's hair and fixes nonexistent tangles. It's as if she's trying to make up for everything that's happened without actually apologizing. Not that Vivian expects her to. Isobel Blair never apologizes.

Her father had been tied up with work this morning. As far as Vivian knows, his excuse isn't a cover-up for darker things. The night before, there had been some sort of drama with some of the employees at Gringotts. Her father has been complaining about their incompetence nearly nonstop since. In any case, it's just her and her mother today, which is probably just as well. Isobel Blair isn't prone to lingering or getting swept up in conversations with other highborn parents as her father sometimes is.

"Make sure to write to me when you arrive and let me know you got there safely," her mother frets, and reaches out to straighten Vivian's collar. When her fingers alight upon the wool fabric of her cloak, Vivian shifts away slightly and straightens it herself, and her mother pauses for an infinitesimal moment before she returns her hands to her side. There is the slightest change in the energy between them; a certain displacement that is barely felt at all, and yet subtly significant.

"Well," her mother panders, lifting her voice into a falsely pleasant tone – the kind that she uses whenever she feels as though she's been slighted, but doesn't want to admit that she cares. "You'd better hurry along, dear. The train leaves in – "

"Yes, goodbye mother," Vivian interrupts calmly, and blinks over at her as if to silently gauge how offended her mother really is. But, as always, Isobel Blair's expression is impossible to read when she makes the effort to hide her emotions, and she is most assuredly doing just that in this moment. Vivian sends her a wane smile which is immediately returned with equal indolence, and says nothing more as she turns toward to train and slinks off to board it. She can feel her mother's eyes on her the whole time.

Perhaps it is wrong of her to take her frustrations out on her mother. After all, Isobel Blair isn't to blame for her husband's descent into the darkness. Over the summer, Vivian distinctly remembers her mother's tense expressions and uneasy eyes whenever her father would pour over the newspaper and find delight in every harrowing article. No, Vivian is quite sure that her mother is not as pleased as she lets on, these days, but it is her disregard for her own happiness that rankles Vivian most of all. Her mother would never even dream of rebuffing her husband's actions, not if it meant that her entire life could be uprooted and altered. She places too much value on reputation and material luxuries to ever consider being anything but obedient…even if it results in her own daughter being swept up in her wake, trapped by the tide with nowhere to go.

Of course, deep down, there is another reason why Vivian feels so judgmental of her mother. It is because, well –

Isn't that what _she's_ doing, too? Trying to cling to ignorance. Trying to pretend that nothing has changed.

She had returned to the Blair Manor early on Christmas morning thinking that she had made a terrible mistake in leaving it, but now she wonders if she should have stayed away after all. If life is one huge game of chance, then she is too tentative a gambler.

She slips around several loitering students, fiddling with her gloves as her eyes sweep the platform in front of her. She feels, innately, that she must strengthen her resolve before she joins her housemates. Tentative gambler or not, she has made a decision by returning home, and while she might not like her mother's way of doing things, she might as well take a page out of her book. For now, at least.

Setting her shoulders back, Vivian glances back to see if her mother is still there, and breathes out in relief when she discovers that she is not. Normally, she would have waited for her daughter to board the train before taking off, but her offense must have hastened her this morning. Well good. Whenever Vivian looks at her these days, all she can think of is that there is a very good chance that she will follow in her exact, obedient footsteps, and that thought makes her feel sick to her stomach.

Vivian inhales a deep breath of crisp wintery air and turns back to the train, intent on heading to the Slytherin car and getting this over with. Adrian and Lucius and the others will probably have their fun harping on her for a while, but she's sure that it won't last for too long. Best to let them get it out of their systems, and then she can drag Narcissa and Morrigan to their own seats and interrogate them for more information.

With this plan in mind, Vivian steps forward once more to enact it, but as with many things in her life, her plans never seem to work out as intended. This time, her plan fails because just as she's reaching out for the handle on the side of the train, her eyes lurch very suddenly into grey. Dove grey, to be exact. The kind that contains no traces of iron at all.

Her body seems to still all on its own, without any prompting from her thoughts. The moment her eyes clash with Sirius Black's, the tentative gambler in her becomes even more unsettled, and she stops in the doorway of the train with one hand grasping the metal handle and her head turned just so to face the platform.

He's staring right at her, arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, his three annoying friends are huddled together, laughing and chattering about whatever it is they talk about. The camaraderie between them is as palpable as anything, even despite the way Sirius promptly abandons them on the platform as he steps forward, eyes trained solely on her.

Vivian stiffens, pulls her eyebrows down into a frown, and gives him as scathing a look as she can manage before darting onto the train and hurrying down the rows of compartments. If he actually thinks that she's going to let him talk to her here, _now,_ as if he has any right to seek her out, he's wrong. Just because she stupidly went to some tiny hamlet in the middle of nowhere and ran into him doesn't mean anything has changed between them. She can blame her pain and her unease on the late night heart-to-heart. She can claim that the abnormal shock of the moment had been what had prompted Sirius's gentle care. She can even believe those things just as fully as she knows her own name.

Vivian Blair.

Vivian Blair.

"Godric."

Vivian grits her teeth and hastens her pace.

"Blair, slow down, would you?" Sirius asks, sounding faintly perturbed.

She sighs impatiently, knowing that he isn't going to leave her alone unless she properly tells him to piss off, and spins around to do just that. But – when she opens her mouth to do so, Sirius beats her to it.

"I saw you with your mum. You went back home? Are you alright?" he asks, in quick succession. His voice is quiet enough to not be blatantly overheard by the students winding around them, and it's full of something strangely sincere, so much so that Vivian's first thought is to stubbornly wonder what sort of trick he's trying to pull on her.

"…I'm – " she starts to say, but doesn't get the chance to tell him that her condition is frankly none of his business.

"How're your arms?" he cuts her off, shuffling closer to avoid getting knocked into by a rowdy group of third years. There's a part of her that feels almost trapped beneath the magnetic spin of his eyes. It takes her a moment to act upon the instinctual urge to shift away from him.

Tilting her chin up in stubborn defiance, Vivian frowns, "Why do you care? Go back to your friends."

_Leave me alone,_ her eyes say.

_Not a chance,_ his return.

"Why do I _care?"_ Sirius repeats with an incredulous snort. "Maybe because I'm not a monster who can easily ignore someone else's pain? Just answer the question, Blair."

Vivian glowers at him and he glowers right back.

"Please spare me your gentleman act," she sneers. "I think I preferred it when the only things that left your mouth were insults."

He looks a bit vexed at this. "Oh, so I'm not allowed to ask if you're okay after you crash-landed in Godric's Hollow sporting third degree burns, and then slinked off into the night like some snake slithering back into its hole? _Forgive_ me for being just a little bit concerned – especially after seeing you with your mum when you went to such great lengths to run away from home on _Christmas Eve,_ of all nights – "

"Shut up," Vivian hisses at him, moving closer in an effort to keep her voice down. She'd like to shout at him. Her voice ripples with the desire, and she barely manages to press her anger into a more contained growl. "You've spent your entire life hating me. You can't just suddenly decide that you don't."

Sirius opens his mouth, perhaps to deny this, but instead he just scorns, "This isn't about hating you – I just can't believe you went back home after all of that."

He's clearly about to say more, but Vivian is really quite finished with this conversation. They're drawing too much attention. The Gryffindor and the Slytherin, hated rivals, known for despising each other from their very first day at Hogwarts, standing so close to each other in a very public place? Their hushed whispers are quite abnormal. All she needs is for Adrian to stumble upon them. Whatever semblance of peace she might have had on the train ride back would be nonexistent.

"I went back home because _I'm_ not afraid of my parents or their beliefs," she sneers at him.

The derisive challenge in her voice is most definitely noticed. Sirius's face turns a bit red from anger. When he speaks next, his voice subtly shakes with it. Whatever concern had sparked him to follow her now disappears like smoke into a night sky, curling into the air and then promptly disappearing on the wind.

"You're a coward, _Godric,"_ he mutters, making sure to enunciate her annoying nickname, as if he's silently comparing her to the great bravery of Godric Gryffindor himself. He clearly finds her lacking.

Vivian just scoffs, "Maybe _you're_ the coward, Black." And then, before he can say another word, she turns on her heel and leaves him there, being buffeted about by students making their way towards their compartments, staring after her with a bitter expression blazing over his face.

Godric Gryffindor – ha! His form of bravery was reckless and insipid, and it's clear to her that the members of his house are just as bad. Sirius thinks that just because he ran away from home _everyone_ should, but he doesn't understand. He is surrounded by people who share his beliefs, by friends who will take him in and welcome him as family, by surrogate parents who see him as their own son. At Hogwarts, he's safe and sound in his common room every night, warmed by the knowledge that nothing can harm him because his house and his friends are of one mind. He has somewhere to go during school breaks. People who will give him a place to stay until he can make it on his own. A support network that will keep him from falling every single time.

But her? What does she have? She _could_ denounce Voldemort and break free of her family and the society she has been ingrained into for so long. She could, of course – as long as she would be okay with spending all of her remaining coin on a shabby room at the Leaky Cauldron once she graduates, because she'd be disowned from her inheritance. And until then, she'd never get a good night's sleep in her dorm room because she'd be too worried about her housemates enacting their revenge on her, and never feeling safe within or outside of the walls of Hogwarts. She could denounce Him, if she were to accept a life of destitution and the curse of being alone, without anyone to catch her when _she_ falls. Because she would fall, eventually, at some point of her forlorn existence, and she'd only have herself to blame.

No, no. It's better this way. Sirius Black might understand what it's like to be born into a family like hers, but that is where their similarities begin and end. She may hate her mother's obedient attitude, and fear that she will become just the same, but that doesn't mean she'll recklessly change her life in some wayward pursuit of autonomy. What's the use of being in control when you're cut off from your inheritance and you're struggling to make ends meet? That's the life that would be waiting for her, were she to make such a choice. And besides, Sirius is wrong. She isn't a coward. Isn't this the very definition of bravery? Keeping at it even when you know you're going to get hurt, pressing forward against the odds, lifting your head and telling Fate to fuck off?

Well yes, perhaps. Perhaps.

The thing about bravery, though, is that it's entirely a matter of perspective, and Vivian Blair's current perspective is still shrouded in dust and smoke – curling up into the night sky and promptly disappearing on the wind.

* * *

The ride back to Hogwarts is precarious, at best. When Vivian arrives in the last car of the train, which has been claimed by her fellow seventh year housemates, she fully expects to get dragged into Mulciber's group. She catches Adrian eyeing her with that annoying smirk of his as she slides the door shut behind her, but to her surprise, he doesn't call out to her or wrangle her into joining him. He seems a bit preoccupied in whatever conversation he's having with Lucius and Rosier, and he only spares her a short glance and a jaunty, arrogant wink as she moves past him.

"Had a nice break, Flint?" Vivian asks – demands, almost – as she hurriedly throws herself towards the seat where Morrigan is sitting, who is uncharacteristically alone. There is no sign of Narcissa yet, and Rosalind seems to be absent. Morrigan is sitting in a brooding sort of silence with her feet kicked up onto the seat opposite her, and she's completely ignorant of the eyes that Michael Dunnet is sending her way from across the car. Very odd, that.

At the sound of Vivian's voice, Morrigan breaks out of her brooding and rearranges her features. She shrugs, makes no effort to move her feet from their sprawled position, and grumbles, "Sure, yeah. Lovely. You?"

Vivian sends her a weird look as she sits down, shoving her feet off the seat so as to claim it. As she tosses her bag onto it and fixes her coat, she sarcastically wonders, "What's wrong with _you?"_

Morrigan snorts, tosses a quick glance over at where Lucius and Adrian are sitting, and mutters, "My mum was _beside_ herself all week, trying to – get this – set me up with Antonin Dolohov, of all people."

At this, Vivian's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, and she stares at Morrigan with her mouth hanging open. Morrigan seems to find her shock both disparaging as well as understandable, because she just snorts again and crosses her arms.

"_Dolohov?"_ Vivian repeats. "But he's – "

"Old enough to be my father?" Morrigan dryly cuts in, and bitterly mutters, "I'm aware. Doesn't make any difference to my mum, though."

Vivian can't possible stop her face from scrunching into an expression of disgust. Morrigan doesn't seem offended by it because she is just as disgusted.

"And your father?" Vivian wonders, thinking for the first time about how strange it all is. Not that she'd expect anyone to be _happy_ about their mum pushing them towards a man like Antonin Dolohov, but she's just never seen Morrigan so out of sorts before. Morrigan Flint has this amazing ability to let things fall off of her like water. The things that bother Vivian don't ever seem to bother Morrigan. In some ways, she has a thicker skin.

Morrigan scoffs, "Oh, he's all for it. Something about how it would do me some good to be on a shorter leash. Obviously, he expects _Antonin_ to be the one holding it." She grumbles for a moment about how ludicrous this is, and then cynically adds, "At least they don't expect me to become a Death Eater. Selling their daughter to the highest bidder is good enough for them."

Vivian shifts uncomfortably at this, but doesn't remark upon it. Perhaps, months before, she might have spoken more freely, but after the events of Christmas, she thinks that it would be wiser not to air her thoughts for anyone to overhear, even one of her own friends. Trust isn't something freely given around here, where anyone might misuse it.

"What a load of archaic shite," Morrigan mutters, and turns her head to eye Vivian closely. "I can't even believe that arranged marriages are still a thing. I mean, this is the _1970s,_ not the fucking 15th century."

Vivian makes a sound of agreement and glances over her shoulder at where Adrian is sitting. He's got his head bent towards Snape, who seems to have only just joined them, and is speaking in a voice too low to hear from where she is sitting halfway across the car. She imagines that she probably wouldn't want to know what he's saying anyway, though, considering how Severus's eyes have widened into what looks to her like misplaced admiration. He's probably bragging about his exploits over break, exaggerating some tale about torture and vandalism. Not that Vivian doesn't think he's incapable of such things – she knows first-hand that he very much is – but she also knows that Adrian Mulciber is full of hot air.

"At least Mulciber is your age," Morrigan says, sounding a little bit wistful. Vivian stiffens and shoots her a scowl, but her friend merely adds, "And somewhat handsome, I suppose. If you squint."

"Are you honestly serious right now," Vivian responds, not even raising her voice into a question.

At this, Morrigan snorts out a laugh, sounding more like herself, and shrugs, "Dolohov is practically a troll by comparison."

Vivian rolls her eyes, but decides not to argue. She's seen Antonin Dolohov at plenty of pureblood gatherings in the past and Morrigan does have a point.

"Course, that doesn't mean I can't have my fun, I 'spose," Morrigan continues, glancing around the train. She seems to have finally realized that Michael Dunnet is giving her bedroom eyes, because she sits up straighter and curls her mouth into her signature 'come-hither' smile. Vivian doesn't bother turning to see if it works. Morrigan rarely ever backs down when she has a conquest in mind.

Vivian opens her bag and, as she's pulling out one of the books she'd decided to borrow from her father's library, dryly says, "I doubt someone like Antonin Dolohov would be okay with his wife fooling around on the side."

Morrigan immediately scrunches her nose in disgust. "I'm not his wife yet, and if I play my cards right, I never _will_ be. Honestly, if it came down to it, I think I'd rather off myself." She leans back in her seat and adds, _"You_ don't sound that upset about your situation, Blair. Have you warmed up to Mulciber over break, or do you have someone _else_ on your mind?"

This is accompanied with a wicked smirk, of which Vivian isn't overly impressed with. There's something in Morrigan's eyes that flashes with knowledge, and it takes Vivian a moment to realize the reason for it being there. Given the insanity of the last two weeks, Vivian had honestly forgotten about the Malfoy's party, but Morrigan's insinuating question brings it all back.

Gardens, hedgerows, silk organza…warm, gentle breath wavering just so against her mouth…

"Don't be ridiculous," Vivian gruffly responds, and flips open her book as if hoping that it might shield her from Morrigan's innuendos. It doesn't, of course.

"You can't honestly tell me that you don't have a thing for Regulus," Morrigan prods. "I mean, you were practically hanging off of him when I interrupted. He looked like a kicked puppy when you pulled away. He has it _bad,_ Blair."

…Has he? Vivian feels a strange sense of warmth in her chest for a split second, before –

"Oh come off it. He was just worried about me is all," Vivian denies, but even she isn't gullible enough to believe her own lies. Even now, quietly yearning gray eyes flash through her vision, and she knows without a shred of doubt that Regulus would have kissed her if Morrigan hadn't interrupted – and, even more, she would have let him. It is this very conundrum that makes her unwilling to admit that Regulus Black might actually care for her in a manner that transcends mere friendship.

She doesn't like Regulus in that way. He's far superior in both temperament and personality to someone like Mulciber, that's for certain, and she feels that if she should like anyone, it _should_ be him. Regulus would be an ideal match, after all. He's a pureblood, a Slytherin, and is from a respectable family – her equal in all ways. But some part of her balks at the thought. She just can't picture it. Being with him, that is. Living with him. Waking up beside him and sipping coffee in bed and sharing things with him; intimate things, like secret passions and the little-known facets of her personality that not even he is observant enough to notice.

Morrigan doesn't look like she believes her, especially when the door of the car slides open and – lo and behold – in steps the man in question himself. The sight of Morrigan's face lighting up in curious speculation is enough of a warning sign to Vivian, but she still finds herself peering over her shoulder nonetheless. That her eyes immediately meet his should be all the proof that she needs. Regulus idles in the doorway for a long moment, staring at her, until Vivian awkwardly clears her throat and turns back to face Morrigan, who is watching the exchange with smirking glee.

"This is the _seventh year_ car, Black! No baby sixth years allowed!" she hollers noisily, much to Vivian's dismay. She finds herself slinking down into her seat and burying her nose into her book to avoid meeting his eyes again, feeling quite disgruntled at Morrigan for giving him a reason to approach them.

Regulus though, merely sends Morrigan a snooty look and drawls, "I'm not here for _you,_ Flint. Don't flatter yourself."

There's an edge of humor in his tone, but Vivian doesn't glance up to see if it has transferred to the rest of his expression, burning across his eyes and lifting his mouth up into that barely-there smirk that gives him away. No, instead, she tries to look extremely invested in reading about genetically passed-down curses, and leaves it at that. She is overly aware, however, of the way Regulus is promptly greeted by his friends as he joins Mulciber's group, and finds herself listening to Lucius inquiring after his holiday and Rosier making a half-teasing remark about the state of his always-black clothes.

Regulus says something in return, but it's lost to her when Morrigan quietly snorts, "No, he's definitely not here for _me," _and gives Vivian an eyeful.

Vivian merely glowers over at her.

"Oh shut it," she mutters, pauses, then adds, "And don't you dare breathe a word about the incident in the gardens to anyone, or I swear I'll send hexes at you for a month."

Morrigan, as usual, isn't fazed. She raises an eyebrow and drawls, "Oh, so we're calling it _'the incident'_ now, are we?"

"What incident are you lot talking about?" Rosalind's voice suddenly chimes in as she appears at their sides and shoves herself onto the seat beside Vivian. Narcissa and her must have found each other on the platform, because they arrive together; the latter taking the seat next to Morrigan with her usual air of practiced ease.

Vivian sends Morrigan a look, but thankfully, her friend knows when to keep her mouth shut. She smirks widely, but says nothing. Thank Merlin for small favors. Vivian definitely doesn't need Narcissa knowing that her younger cousin apparently has some _imaginary_ crush on her friend, and as for Rosalind – well, the school's primary gossiper should most definitely be left in the dark.

"Oh nothing, just Blair drama," Morrigan breezily says (which, admittedly, slightly annoys Vivian). "Had a nice holiday, then? Where'd you run off to, Rosalind?"

As Rosalind launches into a thorough description of her trip to Morocco, most notably the many nights in which she'd left her unknowing parents at their hotel to instead explore the casino night life ("Age potions, ladies – they're the way to go – "), Vivian cautiously glances over her shoulder again the moment Morrigan's attention is drawn away.

Regulus has his back turned towards her, but it doesn't stop her from spending a moment to silently study his lean shoulders and the coal-black hair that shines just so in the morning light. She allows herself a brief moment to wonder if Morrigan is right after all, and finds that the conclusion she makes to this thought is more complicated than she could have imagined. It all adds up, really. Their burgeoning friendship has paved itself into something more. She feels it in the spaces around her heart even now, ricocheting through her with an undermining sort of force that is barely felt at all. She thinks, in that moment, that she'd be a fool not to fall for someone like Regulus Black. He is, in essence, the Mr. Darcy type of man that most girls only dream of. Unyielding and ironclad; magnetic and compelling; terse at times, but occasionally vulnerable, when the moment calls for it. There is only one problem: she's always thought that Darcy was a bit overrated.

Now give her a man like Captain Wentworth, scorned by love's buffeting embrace and by life's hardships, who looks beyond the hold of his own fate, who seeks greener shores and is not afraid of venturing past the borders of the sea in his hunt for self-worth – someone like that, who, after rejecting love and being rejected in kind, is yet able to fall just as deeply as he ever had despite such injuries to his own pride – yes, Wentworth, whose patience becomes his guiding star, whose perseverance is surpassed only by his fearlessness.

It is as she is considering such things that she realizes something: as she studies Regulus's black hair, she is imagining that it is slightly curled at the edges rather than falling flat; she is picturing slightly broader shoulders and slightly larger hands; she is hearing the loud, open laughter that could only come from –

Vivian jerks back quite suddenly, fingers clenching around the edges of her book, lip curling into a deep frown. Beside her, Rosalind pauses momentarily in her chattering to cast her a raised eyebrow, but Vivian is already standing up and tucking _The Power of Genetic Curses_ under her arm.

"Where're you off to, Blair?" Morrigan drawls, eyeing her curiously. She brazenly props her feet on the padded bench the moment Vivian stands up, quick to reclaim it.

"I'm hungry. I'm going to find the trolley," is all Vivian mutters before she makes for the door out of the car. Her friends don't bother calling her back. Whether they believe her excuse or not, Rosalind is already wrangling them back into her descriptive retelling of her holiday, and Vivian is able to successfully get away from them. Unfortunately, her luck begins and ends there.

She keeps her eyes trained directly ahead of her as she walks to the door, but if she's hoping that her passage through the car will remain unnoticed, she's wrong. Just as she's quickly passing Mulciber's group, Adrian reaches out to curl his fingers around her wrist and effectively put a stop to her escape. She rearranges her expression into one of annoyance and turns to tell him off, but Adrian tugs her down onto the seat beside him before she can even open her mouth, and Vivian ends up falling right against his shoulder in a rather ungraceful heap.

"Going somewhere, love?" Adrian purrs. There's an edge of sarcastic amusement in his voice, and it quickly transfers to his eyes as he drags his arm over her shoulders to essentially keep her trapped against him.

Vivian, though, is having none it, and elbows him in the side so sharply that Adrian ends up loosening his hold. She throws his arm off her and snarls, "I can't even go to the bloody bathroom without your consent?"

She doesn't dare look across the way at Regulus. She can feel his eyes searching her face, no doubt wondering at whatever this new development is. True, she hasn't been officially betrothed to Adrian and most likely won't be until the end of the school year, but Adrian seems to have become slightly more possessive of her in recent weeks. He clearly thinks that he has more power than he actually does.

Adrian scoffs and rubs his stomach where she'd elbowed him. "No need to get your knickers in a twist, love. I can manage that particular job myself, if you know what I mean."

Lucius lets out an amused snort, and there's a wave of snickers from the other boys upon hearing this. Vivian battles down the flush that tries to present itself upon her cheeks and cuttingly drawls, "Oh yes, that's very funny. I think I'd rather throw myself off the London bridge than ever let you get anywhere _near_ my knickers."

Her insult only makes Adrian chuckle, as if he thinks she's simply being endearing by playing some complicated game of hard to get. He shrugs to his friends and boasts, "She'll be falling at my feet soon enough."

Amusement shifts through the group at his smug declaration, altering the faces of all except for one. Against her better judgement, Vivian chances a look at where Regulus is sitting. His face is set in humorless wariness, jaw subtly clenched. He's staring at her with those iron eyes, as if he's silently demanding answers even though he surely already has them. News spreads quickly among their circle, and Adrian likes to brag to his friends.

When her eyes alight upon his, Regulus purses his lips but doesn't break his stare. Thankfully, none of the others seem to notice the way he's looking at her. Well – everyone except for one.

Severus Snape has always been extremely observant. It is his own form of self-preservation. It is his manner of keeping himself above the squalor of the school and of his own house; the wayward pretenses of a halfblood sitting among more illustrious stock. He doesn't say anything about the flash of Regulus Black's eyes as they capture Vivian Blair's, or the way they appear almost possessive in the hazy atmosphere of the mid-morning sun, but he notices nonetheless. Does he care about the breeding patterns of his aristocratic acquaintances? Well, why would he? Notions of marriage and childrearing are beyond him; insipid, almost, in their banality. Knowledge, though…now that is a powerful thing, and he tucks this slowly unfurling tidbit of understanding into the back of his mind for further perusal. Perhaps one day it will be lucrative enough to bring to the forefront, but for now he doesn't care overmuch that Regulus seems to have taken a bewildering liking to _her_. He doesn't think very highly of Vivian Blair, but he also doesn't care if someone else has. She's nothing to him.

"In your dreams," Vivian mutters to Adrian in response to his bragging, and pulls away to resume her original intent, dragging her eyes away from Regulus's before his magnetic aura can well and truly disarm her.

Honestly, when he looks at her like that, she feels as if she's no more than a mouse with its tail caught beneath the paw of a cat. He has a consuming way about him that makes him impossible to ignore, almost as if he is trying to open her mind and read her like one of his books.

"I'll save you a carriage, love!" Mulciber calls after her as Vivian heads for the sliding door of the train car. She hears his friends snicker again, no doubt at her expense, and rolls her eyes as she takes her leave. She makes a point of closing the door a little harder than is necessary on her way out, but her little act of defiance is just that: an act.

The moment she slides the door closed, she feels an intense wave of claustrophobia catch her right in the chest, and for one long and wavering moment, she leans against the wall beside the door and just focuses on breathing around the lump in her throat. She doesn't know what to do – doesn't know if there's an answer to the question that's racing through her mind. It clatters against her skull as if it has physical force, growing and festering with doubts and uncertainty. It's the very same question that she's been struggling with since the start of Christmas break, and maybe even sooner, if she's being honest with herself. She'd known this was coming, after all. Marriage.

It's just that a part of her was rather hoping that she wouldn't have to sell her soul to the darkness in order to fulfill her parent's matrimonial wishes for her. She was hoping that whoever she ends up with wouldn't bear the mark of evil on their forearm, or be chomping at the bit to prove themselves to one of the darkest wizards in history.

It was silly of her, perhaps, to presume so much about her future when Fate seems so intent on fucking around with it.

"Vivian? What are you doing?" Mauve McCallum's voice suddenly wonders, and Vivian jerks her eyes up to see that she isn't as alone as she'd thought. The compartment door to her immediate right is half open, and Mauve is standing in the doorway of it with her school robes slung over her arm. Even though they've only just left the station, it seems that she's already intent on changing into them – perhaps to avoid the lines queuing up to the bathrooms later on, or perhaps for other reasons entirely.

For a moment, Vivian stalls, freezing in place as she scrambles for an explanation. Words tumble through her; half-thought sentences lingering on the edge of her mouth before falling to the wayside, unspoken and unheard. Luckily, Mauve doesn't seem to need a verbal justification for why Vivian is standing outside of the seventh-year Slytherin car. Her eyes flash with more understanding than Vivian is comfortable with, but instead of calling her out, she merely shrugs, "I'm off to change into my school robes. You're…er, you're welcome to share my compartment if you'd like…"

The way the girl trails off uncertainly makes it clear that she doesn't actually expect Vivian to take her up on the offer. That's probably why she seems so taken aback when Vivian pushes her chin up and firmly says, "I think I will. Thanks, McCallum," and brushes past her into the compartment without another word.

Mauve turns to look at her over her shoulder, opens her mouth a few times, and then just settles for another shrug and an awkward, "Okay, um – see you in a few, then."

With that, she heads off in the direction of the bathroom, and Vivian collapses on one of the seats in the now-empty compartment, taking stock of the space. Mauve's bag is settled on the seat opposite hers, half-opened. From her vantage point, she can see a few of those strange picture comics poking out of it. Their vibrant colors draw Vivian's attention like nothing else, and, before she knows what she's doing, she finds herself reaching for one and pulling it out of the bag. She compares it, for a moment, to the black leather binding of her own borrowed book. The comic book looks garish beside the gilded silver lettering of her father's volume. She could just imagine his face if her were to see such a literary monstrosity.

Pinched brows, haughty eyes set into firm disgust…

She smirks and flips the comic open.

That's how Mauve finds her, some minutes later when she returns from the bathroom dressed in her Slytherin robes. She's even got her tie tucked neatly into her grey school sweater, as if she's about to head off to classes. When she slips back into the compartment and sees that Vivian is still there – and reading one of her comics, no less – she seems shocked.

Vivian casts a bored glance at her and drawls, "I dunno, McCallum, I'm starting to question your intelligence."

Mauve stills by the door, staring at the comic book in Vivian's hands and fully expecting some sort of insult for being so invested in such things. Slytherin house tends to disagree with her notions of what is acceptable and unacceptable, and pouring herself into muggle comic books falls head-first into the latter. But – Vivian only lifts the comic to show Mauve the open page that she's reading, and snorts, "I mean, how can you liken Clarke to _Superman,_ anyway? Just _look_ at him!"

Wordless from surprise at this unexpected statement, Mauve's eyes drop down to the open page, where Clarke Kent is in all his glory as he fends off a conglomerate of strange purple-skinned aliens. He's dressed in his usual blue and red getup, sans glasses, and his black hair is tousled and windblown from the fight. In typical comic book style, his muscles are absolutely unattainable and his tight suit has no qualms in showing them off as his cape majestically halos around his figure. It's quite ridiculous, really, especially when all Vivian can see is Gavin bloody Clarke in Superman's place. She can thank Mauve for _that_.

Mauve purses her lips just so, but can't hold back her amused laugh for very long. It comes spiraling into existence as she lowers herself into the seat across from Vivian. She shakes her head and admits, "Maybe it's a bit out there."

Vivian snorts.

"Well you have to admit that he looks like Clarke Kent, if not Superman," Mauve finds herself protesting upon hearing the sound.

"Just because Gavin's a complete nerd with no social life, whose only friends are equally nerdy suck-ups, doesn't mean – "

"Wow. And to think, against my better judgement, that I was _actually_ going to give you the ink you wanted," Gavin Clark's voice suddenly drawls from the open compartment door, and the two girls turn in surprise to see him leaning casually in the threshold. Gavin lets out a haughty sniff and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an exaggerated sigh. "Fat chance of that, I suppose, what with you ruthlessly slandering my name the moment my back is turned."

Vivian's mouth drops open for all of three seconds before she sits up straighter and wonders, "Were you _really_ going to give me that ink, or are you just staying that?"

Ah, right – the ink and quill that his brother had given him for Christmas. Vivian had nearly forgotten about him mentioning it in their letters. Something about how he likes the quill just fine, thank you, but really has no use for ink that is charmed to write down whatever the user is thinking. She does recall proposing that he ought to hand it over to her rather than throw it out. Wasteful habits breed all sorts of vices, you know, and she would most certainly find a way to put it to good use.

Grey eyes and vengeance flash through her mind. Oh, to think of all the embarrassing admissions she could bring about if she had the opportunity…

Rather than replying, Gavin just huffs and steps into the compartment, inviting himself to the seat beside Mauve and sending Vivian a look from over his glasses. There is nothing quite like an over-the-spectacles look to truly straighten the spine. Fortunately for Vivian, she happens to be somewhat immune to them after so many years of scoffing off Potter's ridiculous attempts at intimidation. Course, Gavin Clarke takes it all to another level when he smartly proclaims, "Even if I was _considering_ giving you the ink, there's no way I'm going to now. Not unless you compliment me properly, anyway."

Vivian sends him a narrowed look full of reluctance and grouses, "I _was_ complimenting you. Having a social life isn't everything and your nerdy Ravenclaw friends are better than nothing."

Gavin narrows his eyes at her too, but it's fairly clear that the both of them aren't actually being serious. Vivian's grumbling and Gavin's huffs only make Mauve shake her head and say, "That's Slytherin code for 'you're alright', Gavin." The clarification only makes him huff that much more.

"Backwards, the lot of you," he mutters, but quickly waves the topic away to instead ask, "How were your holidays, then? I can't stay for very long – I'm on patrol, see – but I figured I'd track you down to ask."

Mauve shrugs and starts to delve into a surprisingly detailed account of her holiday. Vivian doesn't think she's ever heard her say so many sentences at once before, to be honest. She listens as Mauve describes what seem like fairytale moments, decorating Christmas trees and opening presents on Christmas morning, and can't help but think how different her holiday had been compared to her own. She'll never admit just how closely she listens to the happy descriptions leaving Mauve's lips, but she hangs on every word nonetheless, the comic book abandoned in her lap.

Gavin apparently likes his new quill a bit more than he'd let on in his letters, because once Mauve has run out of words to say, he pulls it out of the inside pocket of his school robes to show the Slytherin girl, waving it around with an air of dignification. Mauve seems amused by what she assumes to be him exaggerating his nerdiness (please, as if), and is quite curious when he pulls out a small bottle of ink from his other pocket.

"And this is the other half of the gift," he explains to her, going into brief detail about his brother's idea of a laugh. "If only there was _someone_ out there who wanted it. I'm of the mind to just toss it in the bin when we get back to Hogwarts…" He trails off and sends Vivian another look.

She rolls her eyes at him and drawls, "Fine. You're a wonderfully nerdy Ravenclaw. You should be proud of how much of a smart-arse you are. Not very many people could even hope of being as annoying as you, Clarke. Good enough for you?"

He raises a dry, unimpressed eyebrow. _"That's_ your idea of a compliment? You basically just insulted me even more." Still, he looks vaguely amused by her all the same.

Mauve laughs. Vivian sighs.

"I'm not in the habit of complimenting people. Now are you gonna give me that ink or not, Clarke?" she demands.

He pauses, then inquires, "Depends on what you're going to do with it, I suppose."

At this, Vivian sends him a Slytherin smirk and drawls, "I'm shocked that you even have to ask."

Just one glance at her expression is enough to make Gavin realize what she's thinking, and he fights back a mirthful smile when he says, "Black, I presume? Okay fine, but only because I'm in agreement with your target of choice."

He tosses her the ink and Vivian snickers as she catches it mid-air, already very much looking forward to getting her just revenge on Sirius Black for sticking his nose into her business and – and doing all those other things that she has decided to forget. Like remembering that she likes Pride and Prejudice and healing her burns with such gentle fingers and being so concerned for her that he'd actually tried talking to her in the middle of the train in front of everyone –

Those things.

Merlin, as if her Slytherin heart could ever allow him to get away with that so easily. Revenge is the only way to patch up her pride. That's really all there is to it, of course. She wouldn't willingly choose to be near him for any _other_ reason.

She sits back with a smug smile and tucks the ink into her bag, mind racing with possibilities.

Gavin takes his leave not long after. To Vivian's relief, he doesn't ask about his book or whether she's finished reading it or not. She doesn't know if this is because Mauve is with them or simply because he's a bit distracted with his train patrols, but Vivian is thankful for the lapse nonetheless. She still has his book, destroyed though it is, sitting at the bottom of her satchel. She needs a little more time to figure out how she'll break the news to him. To be honest, she's just a little bit nervous. Well, alright – she's _very_ nervous. Just imagining his disappointment is enough to make her grimace.

The rest of the train ride is surprisingly fun. Her and Mauve spend the majority of it reading comics whilst jokingly comparing superheroes and villains to potential classmate counterparts. Mauve takes it upon herself to describe the storylines of many comics that Vivian has never heard of. It's oddly refreshing in a way she would never have expected, sitting there with Mauve McCallum while the Scottish countryside flies past them. By the time the Hogwarts Express is nearing its destination, Vivian might even go so far as to say that Mauve has become something of a friend.

She's sure that her dormmates have been wondering where she's gotten off to for hours now, but Vivian doesn't particularly care. Being seen with Mauve probably won't help her case against Mulciber and his ridiculous friends, but she can't bring herself to return to the seventh year car and her place among them. Instead, once she's changed into her uniform, she returns to Mauve's compartment to collect her bag and together, they head off to platform where the rest of the students are congregating. The crowd is too thick for either of them to be taken notice of. They blend right in.

Well, nearly.

"So it's true, then?" a voice drawls from off to the side when Mauve and Vivian join the tail-end of the throng of students walking through Hogsmeade. The gates of Hogwarts are up ahead, tall and proud against the falling dusk. Their iron wrought elegance represents something that Vivian has never felt so strongly before; a kind of safety that, in years past, she would have scoffed at.

Vivian sighs and turns to Mauve to say, "I'll meet you in the Great Hall, then?" This particular conversation is best had in privacy – or, at least, as much of it as can be had when the entire school is surrounding them.

Mauve pauses. She looks a bit hesitant as she glances between Vivian and the new arrival, but ultimately doesn't argue. With a subtle nod of her head, the girl disappears into the already thinning crowd to find a carriage, leaving the pair of them to their own devices. The moment she's gone, Vivian turns and mutters, "Is _what_ true?" in a rather impatient voice.

Regulus purses his mouth. He takes a quick glance at the students milling around them and then steps closer to quietly hiss, "Your engagement to Adrian, of course. What _else_ would I be referring to?"

Vivian nearly snorts at this. What else indeed. Burnt organza and firewhiskey flashes through her mind, but she pushes the memories away before they can show upon her face, and turns to look at Regulus. "I'm not engaged to Mulciber. Not officially."

He raises an eyebrow at this and dryly murmurs, "That's not what _he's_ saying."

She sets her mouth into a glower and grumbles, "Well it's the truth. I'm not engaged. Not yet."

Regulus descends into a brief silence at this. He spends the majority of this silence looking at her very closely. Around them, students hurry past to catch the last of the carriages. Most of them have already started the trek back to the castle, leaving her and Regulus behind. It occurs to Vivian that the last time she had been alone with him, he'd nearly kissed her, but for some reason, the thought doesn't affect her as much as it had in days past, when she would pluck it from her memory and turn it over and wonder if she had really wanted him to or not. Perhaps it's because now, his presence is much too powerful in and of itself.

"Where are the others?" she asks him, looking over his shoulder to see if Mulciber and his friends are waiting for him to rejoin them. All she can see, though, is the gathered darkness of evening, which shrouds everything beyond the edge of the train platform where they are still idling.

She's got a feeling that Adrian wouldn't be overly pleased to see her and Regulus alone together, and so she's quite relieved when he sighs, "They've gone on ahead." He pauses then, seemingly at war with himself. His expression turns slightly strained, unsettling the mask that is usually set firmly in place upon his brow. He looks like he'd like to say something to her – about what, she can only venture to guess – but instead Regulus just offers her his elbow and says, "Come on. We should get a move on before one of the teachers realizes we're missing."

Vivian stares at him for a moment before she accepts his arm, and tucks her fingers into the crease of his sleeve. She doesn't think overmuch about the manner in which they walk to the end of the platform. Her mind is too busy spinning and turning, as it is wont to do these days when she has nothing to distract herself with. She barely even takes notice of the approaching gates or the warmth of Regulus's side until they reach the carriages. It is at that moment, of course, that Vivian's spinning mind narrows down to focus on something rather unexpected.

It shouldn't be, of course. She knows that well enough. But when she sees the skeletal horse that is impatiently pawing at the ground in front of their carriage, she seems to forget that subtle fact. She doesn't realize that she's slowing to a stop or staring wide-eyed at the creature, but Regulus Black does. As usual, he notices everything.

"…Vivian?" he wonders, sounding slightly cautious. He knows full well what she's staring at, though he can't see them himself. He also knows that she wouldn't be reacting like this if she'd seen the thestrals before, which means only one thing: she has witnessed Death over the break.

This, naturally, means something else as well: he is in the dark about something very significant.

"Vivian," he says again, a little more firmly, and she breaks out of her stupor. He watches her face flush just so, embarrassed to be caught staring in such a way. Her hand falls from his elbow to instead jerk her satchel higher up her shoulder. Her awkwardness, rare as it is, might have been endearing under any other circumstance, but Regulus is too busy wondering what all this means, and how it's happened, and why.

He finds that he dearly wants to know.

"Come on," he mutters, and prods her forward towards the carriage. There are only a handful of them left, but it looks like they are the last students to embark upon the final journey up to the castle, because no one else is lingering around. Professor McGonagall seems to have been assigned the task of ensuring that all the students are accounted for. As they approach the thestral-drawn-carriage, she bustles towards them with a quill and parchment gripped tightly in her hands.

"_There_ you two are," she says in her usual clipped, business-like tone. "Hurry up now. The feast is due to begin soon." She grumbles a bit about dilly-dallying students and ushers them towards the nearest carriage impatiently.

The two Slytherins say very little as they climb into the carriage. It is only once the door has been shut that the silence between them is broken. Regulus leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and catches her eye. In his usual quiet voice, he solemnly asks, "What happened over Christmas break?"

There is an adamance to his question; a pressing desire to know the full story, without anything left out. He stares at her with this demand honing his gaze, firm but tentative. And Vivian – she stares back and unsuccessfully tries to quell the aching part of her that wants to tell him, because surely he would understand. Surely, if she knows him at all, he would help her.

But then again, would he? Doesn't Regulus Black represent the very problem that she now faces? He wants to be branded by the Dark Lord, and in doing so, doesn't that also mean that he wants to remain right where he is? In the pureblood world, in high society, with his family name to vault him forward into the new world that the Dark Lord is envisioning. Could he really help her, or is this only an illusion that Vivian wants to believe, because she wants to think that Regulus can be saved. Regulus – gentle, endearing, _good_.

Vivian opens her mouth to respond to him. She doesn't know what her response will be, only that she can feel the words tumbling forward as if they are a physical force pressing against her vocal chords, like the start of an orchestra when the instruments are being tuned to their proper key. The violins fly forward, the cello hums against the bass's undertones, the flute's silvery notes careen above the rest – until, as one, the concert pitch blends together into a riveting thrum of sound that vibrates into the audience like a mesmerizing cacophony.

"After the Malfoy's party – " Vivian starts to say, and then falls abruptly silent, because that's when the door of the carriage swings open and a new instrument joins the ranks of the concert.

For a very long moment, Vivian and Regulus just turn and stare in quiet surprise and the unexpected addition, until…

"Oh _do_ hurry," McGonagall's voice blusters from beyond the carriage. "Mr. Black, I _sincerely_ hope you're the last student loitering around the platform."

Regulus opens his mouth, and from the look on his face, it's probably to say something snide, but he doesn't get the opportunity.

"_Relax,_ Minnie. I told you I was," Sirius grumbles. He throws his brother a gruff look, casts a quick glance at Vivian, and climbs into the carriage just in time to miss the roll of parchment that is smacked down where his head had been just moments before, no doubt a repayment for him using Professor McGonagall's first name so disrespectfully. McGonagall grumbles something as she firmly shuts the door behind him, but the words are lost in the surprise of Sirius Black's sudden appearance.

After a quick pause, he throws himself into the seat beside Vivian and crosses his arms, slouching forward until his feet are propped up on the seat beside Regulus. It takes Vivian a moment to react, surprised as she is, but the moment she regathers herself, she shoves her body as far away from his as she can, lodging her shoulder against the chilled window of the carriage with a vengeance. Sirius, despite the suspicious look that always blazes across his face whenever his brother is nearby, looks vaguely amused by this.

"I don't bite, Godric. Not unless specifically asked, of course," he breezily informs her, turning his head to study the stiff way she's pressing herself to the side of the carriage.

It's Regulus who answers him when he darkly demands, "What were you doing skulking around the platform? I've never seen you without your filthy friends. You and that blood traitor are practically attached at the hip."

This seems to annoy Sirius enough to thoroughly distract him from his amusement, for he turns to face his brother with a stormy expression. "I wasn't _skulking around the platform, _I was rounding up some things. It's just my misfortune that I have to share a carriage with _you._ Godric is bad enough."

He doesn't really mean that, of course. He'd pick Vivian over his brother any day. Still, he should've made Peter sneak off to the Three Broomsticks for their usual Gryffindor-only New Year's Party in his stead. Anything to get out of _this_ lovely situation. If only Pete wasn't so awful at convincing the barkeep to supply them with their usual butterbeers…and if only McGonagall wasn't the one assigned to check off the students this year. He could've probably bypassed that list and taken one of the passageways into the castle if it had been Flitwick or Slughorn. It wouldn't have been difficult to convince either of them that they had simply not noticed his presence.

Regulus lifts his chin into the air and dryly mutters, "I suppose I don't really want to know _what_ you were doing. Probably some childish prank, as usual."

Sirius scoffs. "You know, Reggie, I've heard that laughter does wonders for lifting wrinkles. You should keep that in mind for the future, seeing as all you ever do is scowl."

"I'd rather not lower myself to talking to you. I don't associate myself with blood traitors these days," is all Regulus responds with, much to Sirius's annoyance.

"There was a time when all you did was follow me around like my fucking shadow," he drawls, tilting his head back against the seat as he stares at Regulus through narrowed eyes. "How things have changed," he says, quite sarcastically, and glances over at Vivian with an indecipherable look. In a voice that is just as indecipherable, he adds, "Now all you ever seem to do is follow _Blair_ around. Bit pathetic, if you ask me."

Vivian sends him a scowl for dragging her into the conversation, but doesn't respond. She has absolutely no interest in getting involved in the current Black family drama that is unfolding in front of her. Regulus and Sirius can deal with their shit by themselves, thank you.

"As if you can talk," Regulus cuts in with a sneer. "You're basically obsessed with her."

Sirius's mouth drops open. "I'm not _obsessed_ with Godric!"

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Then why do you target her for so many of your ridiculous pranks?"

Spluttering, Sirius barks out a laugh and manages, "She makes a great target is all!"

Vivian rolls her eyes.

"You can't expect me to believe that," Regulus drawls. His voice is smooth and cunning, almost, as if he's hoping that he'll catch Sirius in some sort of verbal trap. He certainly seems like he means to when he smirks, "I think my brother _likes_ you, Vivian. Why else would he chase you around the halls trying to get your attention?"

This time, Vivian does more than just roll her eyes. She shoots an annoyed look at Regulus for spewing such a ridiculous statement, then sends a glower over at Sirius for good measure, only to find that he's already looking at her. There's something about the way his eyes clash with hers that makes her just a tiny bit uncomfortable. It probably has something to do with the shiver that captures her spine and the flush that spins over her neck and nervous energy that rattles through her veins. She can't look at anything but his eyes – stormy, wild, like a hurricane captured between slates of grey.

Then, abruptly, without thought, Vivian blurts out, "That would be disgusting."

And just like that, the storm in Sirius's eyes flickers out, and they turn strangely cold as he glowers at her. In fact (and she must just be imagining it), it almost looks like he is genuinely upset at her thoughtless declaration – for a moment, anyway, until Sirius scoffs and turns back to his brother with the usual annoyed expression. Yes, the darkness of the carriage must be playing tricks on her. The only thing that Sirius could possibly be upset about is the potential injury to his own ego. He does seem to think that he's God's gift to women, after all.

As for Regulus, he looks supremely amused. His Slytherin smirk is blazing across his face boldly. Vivian might have thought it looks well on him, in any other instance, but for some reason she feels a strange sense of unease to see it there now. There is some part of her, however small, that is wary at seeing it directed at Sirius with so much vengeance. It doesn't look _right_.

This feeling, however, lasts only as long as Sirius's silence.

"Were you gonna inform Reggie about what happened over break, Blair? I thought I heard him ask about it before. I'm sure it's quite a story," Sirius smoothly says, not looking away from his brother as the words leave his lips. His eyes are narrowed down just so. Regulus is quick to pick up on the subtly of Sirius's words, as well as the challenge in his eyes. He knows something that Regulus doesn't.

At once, both brothers turn to look at Vivian expectantly. This is the first time she can ever remember seeing them look so alike as they sit there and wait for an explanation, which strikes her as extremely strange.

"How does _he_ know what happened over break?" Regulus demands, looking rather unhappy.

Vivian stalls, not really knowing what to say. Of course, this could also have something to do with the way Sirius immediately deflects his brother's words, as if he's trying to spare her even after he'd thrown her to the wolves.

"I _don't_ know what happened, Regulus," he swiftly cuts in. "But judging from the look on your face, I'm gonna assume that I know more than you do."

Regulus turns away from Vivian to instead glare at his brother. Vivian isn't sure she's ever seen him so angry before, to be honest. His mouth is pressed into a hard line and his jaw is clenched so tightly that it looks painful. She thinks she sees his fingers twitching towards the pocket of his robes to where his wand is located.

When she next speaks, it's mainly to shut them both up before they start throwing hexes at each other in this very enclosed space. The chances of her getting out of that particular altercation unscathed would be extremely slim, and she'd really prefer starting her final term on a somewhat decent note. That, and she's actually quite annoyed with their squabbling.

"If you two don't shut up, I will throw you both out of this carriage and you can walk the rest of the way to the castle," she hisses, and glares at Sirius for good measure when he opens his mouth to argue.

The glare seems to do with trick because he falls silent with a grumble and resumes his original slouched position. Regulus seems like he'd like to argue too, but one look at Vivian's narrowed eyes makes him cross his arms and fall silent as well. The two brothers glare at each other intently, but thankfully that's about all they do. As for Vivian, she sits in the middle of it all feeling quite uncomfortable and refuses to look at either one of them. Instead, she glowers out the window of the carriage and wonders if it would perhaps be better listening to them argue after all, if only because the silence is more awkward than it's ever been before.

Still, it's not quite as awkward as when they arrive at the castle some minutes later and clamor out of the carriage. They idle there for several seconds, uncomfortably standing in the halo of light that the opened doors cast upon the cobblestones, before Vivian clears her throat and rushes away from them, hastening up the steps and into the warmth of the school. She doesn't look to see if either Regulus or Sirius follow immediately or not. She doesn't look back to view the thestral as it slowly begins its trek to the carriage house. She doesn't look at anything but the doors of the Great Hall, where Mauve is probably sitting off to the side as per usual and has maybe saved her a seat, if she's lucky, and –

Well, she didn't mean it, did she? Her mind spins for a different reason now, with feathers and glowing eyes, with prose scratched onto parchment and the subtle flash of hurt pressing through grey.

Maybe…maybe it wouldn't be _that_ disgusting if Sirius Black liked her.


	35. Pentralia mentis

**Chapter Thirty Five | Pentralia mentis **

**[The innermost thoughts of a person]**

"A _panther_ – now _that's_ an impressive patronus, Axel! And Mr. Clarke, fascinating – a raccoon, I see. It looks like my Ravenclaw students practiced over break! Twenty points! Well done – "

Vivian shoots Gavin a look, but he doesn't see it at first. He's too busy being congratulated by his fellow housemates for a 'job well done, Gavin!'. His boyish smile makes it clear that he is quite proud of his perfection over the patronus charm, especially since it has helped earn him house points. When his gaze ends up clashing into Vivian's from across the room, he smiles wider and shrugs. She rolls her eyes at him. What a show-off.

"A raccoon? That's such a dumb animal," someone to her left grouses, and Vivian fights back the urge to roll her eyes again.

"Please. _You're_ patronus is a mangy dog, Sirius," Lily Evans mutters.

"My patronus is not a _mangy_ dog! It's fluffy and adorable!" he retorts somewhere behind her.

Lily snaps back at him (something about it looking like the Grim), but Vivian doesn't hear what she says because someone else is approaching her and murmuring, "No memories that are good enough, Vivian? I could give you some that would stun you speechless."

Vivian purses her mouth and grips her wand tighter. In a neutral voice, she mutters, "You already stun me speechless, Mulciber, and not in a _good_ way."

Adrian scoffs. "You know that you're only presenting yourself as a challenge, right? It only makes me want to put you in your place."

Vivian snorts and mutters, "And what place would that be, pray tell?"

He smirks widely. "I'm afraid that it might sound a little…crass in this particular setting. I don't want to get you _too_ excited."

Her stomach roils in disgust. A narrowed glower is promptly thrown at him as her eyes crease with wildfire, but before she can retort, someone beats her to it.

"I don't see any patronus from _you,_ Mulciber. Why's that, I wonder?"

"Probably cause he's too ugly to have gotten any real love. I'll bet his mother thought she'd given birth to a troll when he popped out."

"Merlin – imagine her confusion!"

Black and Potter collapse into snickering laughter. Vivian grumbles at their contribution. Adrian scowls angrily.

"I didn't think I was talking to the resident blood traitors," he snarks, turning to face them as he crosses his arms over his chest. His wand is loosely held in his hand, but judging by the tense way he's standing, it's clear that he's ready to shoot a spell at them at any moment.

Vivian sends an annoyed look at the pair in hopes that it might silence them. Not that she doesn't enjoy watching Adrian get ridiculed, but considering everything that's happened over Christmas break, she thinks they're being pretty stupid about making an enemy of him now. Of course, it's a bit too late for James and Sirius to _not_ make an enemy of Adrian Mulciber, considering that they've spent the last six and a half years doing just that.

As she lifts her eyes to glower at the Gryffindor idiots, her gaze clashes with Sirius's. Maybe it's because he's already looking at her, or maybe it's merely because certain things have happened between _them_ over Christmas break, too, and even though she's tried her hardest to put these memories behind her, she's found it to be unexpectedly difficult. It's equally as difficult to look away from him, for some strange reason. He stares at her in an almost brooding way, as if he's trying to figure her out. It's rather uncomfortable and weirdly captivating all at the same time.

"You know, Sirius, this whole 'blood traitor' thing stopped being offensive back in third year," James says, sighing a little bit as if he thinks Mulciber is a complete idiot.

Sirius nods in agreement, though it takes him a moment to reply. He stares at Vivian for several long seconds before his eyes slice over to Adrian's. "I agree. Don't you have any new insults, or are you really as dumb as you look?"

At this point, their little confrontation seems to be garnering more attention as nearby students cast wary glances at them. Said looks are fairly common whenever the Marauders are involved, but when you add an angry Slytherin to the mix…well, all bets are off, as they say.

"You filthy little – " Adrian starts. Fortunately, he doesn't get to finish.

"Is there a problem over here, gentlemen?" Professor Anderson's voice cuts in. He seems to have finally realized that there is a brewing storm in the center of his classroom, and breaks away from where he had been standing with Gavin and Axel. Congratulations are put on hold as Anderson crosses his arms and eyes the three of them. Vivian, thankfully, doesn't seem to be caught in the middle of it this time and is able to shuffle off to the side to save herself from the professor's wrath.

The entire room watches as Sirius and Adrian glare at each other. James glares at him too, but it's Sirius that Mulciber seems to have prioritized this time. His snarky commentary is clearly not appreciated, and the potential repercussions of said commentary is making the entire classroom tense.

"There's no problem at all, professor," Sirius drawls. His eyes are cast in a stormier grey than usual. It blusters with checked intensity.

Adrian scoffs beneath his breath and finally turns away, sending his glowering countenance towards Professor Anderson instead. In a gruff voice, he mutters, "No problem at all," and casts a glance over at where Lucius and Rosier are standing.

As for Sirius, his eyes fall back upon Vivian the moment Adrian looks away, and she swears that she sees a hint of protectiveness blurring around the edges of the storm. She studies it for half a second before looking away, uncomfortable and a little bit confused. Surely, she had been imagining the emotions behind his eyes. There's no reason that Sirius Black would ever feel the urge to protect her. Damn him if he thinks she needs his paltry protection anyway.

Anderson obviously doesn't believe them, but since the brunt of the argument seems to have dissipated, he decides to move on from it. With a firm nod, he says, "Good. Now, take your seats, everyone. We've still got twenty minutes to start on the new chapter. Wands away and books out!"

The classroom erupts into grumbling complaints, but they all move towards their desks nonetheless. Behind her, Adrian rejoins his friends, and Vivian relaxes somewhat as she turns to rejoin hers. She doesn't look at Sirius again, but she swears she feels his eyes on her for the duration of those twenty long minutes. She doesn't bother finding out if her hunch is true or not (because she doesn't give a damn about him, obviously), and the second the bell rings, she can't get out of the room fast enough (because she's got _things_ to do, you know). When she's successfully escaped and is hurrying down the corridor, she's finally able to breathe.

Unfortunately, the feeling doesn't last for long. She catches him watching her during lunch, when she's chatting with Narcissa about her wedding ceremony developments. And during Charms, from his place across the circular lecture hall as he pretends to take notes on a scrap of parchment. And in the hallway as they wait for their Potions class to begin. And during dinner, even though she had purposefully taken a seat facing the wall to escape his continuous stare. Sirius Black is quickly becoming the strangest menace he's ever been – silent, brooding, and aggravating even when he isn't getting in her way – and it becomes apparent to other people. Well, three other people, to be precise.

"You've been acting strange, Padfoot," James says as he casts a glance over his shoulder to see what his friend is staring at. It doesn't exactly come as a surprise to discover that it isn't a question of what, but rather _who_. Sirius has spent his first day back at Hogwarts broodingly staring at one person in particular as if he's trying to unravel all of her secrets with just a look. Apparently, it isn't working out for him very well because the brooding has only gotten more intense as the day has gone by.

Sirius glances at James and purses his mouth. "It's just…don't you think it's weird?"

Across from him, Peter frowns in confusion and asks, "What's weird?" Though, since his mouth is at this moment full of red currant pie, it comes out rather garbled and nonsensical. Thankfully his friends are fluent in his dinner-speech and immediately understand what he's saying.

Sirius shrugs and turns his brooding gaze to the dish of pudding sitting in front of him. He stares broodingly into it as he says, "She's acting like nothing happened at all. Is that normal?"

James straightens his shoulders and pushes his glasses up with an air of dignified knowledge. In a voice that perfectly reflects this, he declares, "Girls are strange creatures, Sirius. They do this thing where they deflect anything that they're uncomfortable with and pretend that it doesn't exist."

Remus raises an eyebrow at him and in a slightly sarcastic voice (slightly…honestly), says, "That basically sounds like your entire relationship with a certain red-head we all know and love."

James looks slightly offended (well, a little more than slightly). "My Lilyflower isn't _uncomfortable_ around me – she just doesn't understand her feelings yet! She doesn't want to admit that she's burning with passion for me. It's just sheer stubbornness on her part, really."

None of his friends believe him. None of them call him out on it either, though – partially because it's getting exhausting at this point and partially because Sirius isn't really in the mood to talk about red-heads. He's currently more inclined towards the bitter brunette type.

Sending another brooding glance across the Great Hall, he mumbles, "Well she _seems_ normal enough. She's been glaring at people all day, so there's that."

He does have a point. She _has_ been glaring all day. Mainly at him, whenever she'd catch him looking at her. Yes, Sirius is aware that it's a tiny bit creepy of him and that she probably thinks even less of him now than she had before, but he can't help it. He's _confused_. She can't just pretend that she hadn't fallen out of the sky and spent the night at the Potter's house. She can't just ignore the fact that their tentative truce had taken a surprising turn of events that night. _He_ certainly can't forget the red-rimmed eyes or the shaking shoulders or the mumbled 'Happy Christmas, Sirius' that had grudgingly left her lips.

Brow furrowing, he stares at the chocolate brown hair and mutters, "…Something is definitely off. I mean, she was _crying_. That's pretty huge."

It is indeed. He doesn't _really_ think that Vivian Blair is a ghoul or anything (he just enjoys watching her wildfire eyes flash with annoyance when he says it), but for her to cry is…well, it's just so uncharacteristic. So human. And perhaps he had thought that the handful of hours they'd spent together on the couch in James's living room had changed something between them. Perhaps he had been expecting something to occur the next time they saw each other – some alteration in the air between them, some shift of acknowledgement to prove that he hadn't been dreaming it all up. Maybe that's why he can't stop watching her to see if she'll lift her head and do something that will put it all into perspective…

Across the table, James sighs and points his fork at him. "Females are incredibly dim, Padfoot. You need to spell things out for them, yeah? Get her attention so that she can't ignore you anymore."

Sirius sends him a skeptical look and drawls, "You are _so_ lucky that Evans isn't here right now, Prongs."

Rather than hearing the insult wedged between the words, though, James just nods, "Great example, Padfoot – my dealings with Lilyflower are exactly the same. You have to be really straightforward, cause girls like that. If they think you're playing games with them, they get all vengeful."

Remus sends him a dry look. Peter's expression is somewhat confused. Sirius just raises an eyebrow at him and doesn't respond. Thankfully, or not, James still has plenty of wisdom to impart upon him.

"Obviously the best way to get a girl's attention is to – "

"Not avoid her?" Remus inputs sarcastically.

"…Do something nice for her?" Peter asks.

James rolls his eyes. "No, you gits. You've got to – "

"Prank her," Sirius smirks, and stands up. "Great idea, Prongs. I've got the best prank, too…thanks for the pep talk, but I've gotta run. Things to prepare, you know. If this doesn't annoy her enough to make her talk to me, I don't know what will."

Sirius snickers, and before any of his friends can stop him, he strides away from the table with one last glance over at the Slytherins. The other Marauders gape after him.

"…I was actually going to say 'talk to her'," James finishes, turning to look at Remus and Peter with conflicted eyes.

Remus shrugs. Peter grunts and turns back to his dessert with eager zeal.

"Do you actually think Sirius would go up to Vivian Blair and talk to her?" Remus asks, sounding quite doubtful.

James pauses, and then mumbles, "…He might?"

Remus shakes his head. "Well whatever happens, it should be fun to watch."

James pauses again, then smirks. "Right you are, Moony. Right you are."

After all, if you can't laugh at your best friend when they fuck up, what _can_ you laugh at?

* * *

'…_The Dementor will feed on you for long enough to reduce you to something like itself, soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life – '_

"Reading another of your 'dictionaries'?" Gavin Clarke wonders as he takes a seat across from Vivian. The library is relatively empty this afternoon. Most of the students are trying to enjoy the final slivers of their Christmas holidays, and seem to have put homework on the backburner until absolutely necessary. On her trek here, she'd seen many of them outside, playing in the snow like juvenile children. She'll never understand the point of making a snowman or throwing snowballs. Unless, of course, you are trying to injure someone like (as a theoretical example) James Potter or Sirius Black. Not that she's ever done anything like _that,_ of course. (It was just a model to illustrate her point, obviously.)

Pushing away memories of enchanted snowballs packed with ice, flying towards ideal and _completely theoretical_ targets, Vivian glances up. Gavin is apparently much too busy to bother with playing in the snow. Even now, he's gathering up some textbooks and a roll of parchment, prepared to tackle the Charms essay that Flitwick had unapologetically assigned to them that afternoon.

"…Yeah. Dictionary," she mumbles, and tilts the book towards her. It's not a dictionary, of course. She thinks it's slightly amusing that for once, she's actually reading something that appears exactly as it truly is, with no enchantments hiding the real title. He doesn't need to know that, though. In any case, it's not as if she's doing something wrong.

Gavin shoots her a small smile as he opens his Charms book. It's neatly marked in quite a few places with spare bits of notated parchment sticking out of the edges. He finds what he's looking for within seconds and then turns back to his bag, riffling through it absentmindedly.

"I finished reading Sense and Sensibility. I've got it somewhere in here…" he murmurs. It takes him a moment or two to complete the monumental task of going through his ridiculously overflowing bookbag, but he manages to find it without too much trouble and sets it on the tabletop between them.

It's in perfect condition. Vivian swallows back a wave of discomfort.

"So…did you finish Oliver Twist, or did you need more time?" Gavin asks when she doesn't say anything. Her silence seems to be making him a bit concerned, because he furrows his eyebrows at her and hesitantly wonders, "…Vivian?"

She closes _The Dementor's Kiss_ and clears her throat. She's half tempted to just get up and leave, but something holds her back. Maybe it's the earnest look in Clarke's eyes, or maybe it's just the guilt that's been eating away at her whenever she looks at the book he had lent her, burned and ruined and mostly illegible.

"…I actually didn't finish it," she tells him after a beat of silence. She resists the urge to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

Gavin shrugs and says, "Well that's fine, you can take as much time as you need."

"It's not that I – it's sort of complicated. I mean – "

"Did you get bored of it? You know you don't _have_ to read it if you don't want to," he interrupts, apparently concluding that her awkward hesitance is due to her disliking the story entirely. If only it were that simple.

Merlin, he's going to hate her when he sees what she's done to his prized book. His obsession for Charles Dickens is such that all of his copies are collector's editions and must be expensive. If someone had ruined one of her books, she'd be furious…

Gavin raises an eyebrow at her and chuckles, "It's not a big deal if you got bored, Vivian. Not everyone likes Dickens, I get it – "

"It's not that," she says again, this time a little impatiently. Gavin falls silent at this and tilts his head at her in question, until Vivian just sighs and grabs her bag. She might as well get it over with, even if it does lose her a perfectly good membership to his little two-person book club.

"Well then what is – oh."

She doesn't look at his face as she gingerly places the once gorgeous book onto the table. What's left of the gilded edges are now ashen and sooty. The title is barely decipherable at all, and the second half of 'Twist' is entirely burnt away. The pages are ruined. Even now, as she silently admits to her crime, a few ashy remnants flutter down onto the wooden tabletop morosely.

"My father found out that I…that I liked reading muggle books. He…" she swallows and finishes, "burned my entire collection, including this."

Silence falls upon them, so stifling that Vivian can't bear to tear her eyes away from the ashen cover. Gavin is staring at his book with an air of intense disappointment. She can practically feel it roiling off of him like waves, and it's only making her feel even more guilty.

She stares down at it too and blurts, "I'll pay you for it. Or buy you another copy. Where did you get this one? I can make a trip – "

"It was a gift from my father," he cuts in, though not unkindly. His voice sounds a bit faraway, as if he can't quite believe it. When Vivian chances a quick glance up at his face, it's composed in a sort of incredulity. She grimaces at his expression and falls silent again.

Seconds tick by in this manner, stretching out into what feels like an eternity. They both stare at the book and say nothing. Gavin's essay is completely forgotten. He doesn't seem to even recall why he had come to the library in the first place, which is in itself a testament to how taken aback he is, because Gavin Clarke's mind is _always_ bent upon responsibilities and assignments.

At last, Vivian swallows tightly and whispers, "…I'm sorry," and Gavin seems to break out of his stupor.

He looks up and stares at her. She stares back, wondering what he sees. Silence continues to rein, heavy around them, until -

"It's alright, Vivian. You don't have to feel so guilty about it," he tells her with a strange gentleness.

She jerks back a little at the tone, simply because it's so unexpected. A part of her wants to tell him that she doesn't feel guilty, thank you, but that would be the biggest lie she's ever said. To be completely honest, she's been feeling utterly torn about this since it had happened, and she's been afraid of telling him, and convinced that he would never want to speak to her again. So really, his gentle tone and kind eyes are, well, a bit shocking. This hadn't been the reaction she's spent the last week anticipating.

"Aren't you angry?" she asks with a confused frown, studying him closely for some hint of said anger. She sees none in his eyes, though. The blue of them reflect only gentle understanding and something resembling…sadness?

Merlin's Balls, is he going to start crying on her? That would be incredibly awkward –

"I'm not angry," he tells her. He doesn't _sound_ like he's going to cry. She's relieved for half a second before he hesitantly murmurs, "…Was your dad really _that_ _furious_ that you read muggle books?"

Oh. Is _this_ the source of the sadness? Is it _pity?_ She furrows her brow at him and irritably demands, "You think I'm lying?"

Bewilderment cuts through his eyes at this, and then he quickly shakes his head and breathes out, "No, of course not. It's just that – is that why you've enchanted all your Austen books?"

It's very Ravenclaw of him, really, to accurately jump to this conclusion. Not that it's that much of a stretch. She's a little surprised that he had reached the mark so quickly, though, considering that by all rights, he should be angry with her for completely decimating his prized book.

Vivian isn't accustomed to being left speechless. Gavin seems to enjoy the fact that she is, by his own effort. He quips a small smile at her and reaches over to take Oliver Twist. As he carefully tugs it towards him, he says, "It's okay, Vivian. Really. I'm not angry."

Speechless really doesn't cut it. With an incredulous shake of her head, she mutters, "Why aren't you a Hufflepuff?"

Honestly, he's too kind for his own good, sometimes.

Gavin chuckles as he carefully deposits the book into his bag, and responds, "My brother says it's because I'm a smart-arse. I've no idea what he's talking about, of course."

Vivian snorts and hums dryly, but she's still reeling a bit from his lack of anger. With a sigh, she rests her chin on her palm and quietly says, "I'm sorry, Clarke. Really."

If he's surprised to receive her heartfelt apology, Gavin doesn't show it. He just smiles at her and straightens up, pulling his Charms textbook closer and murmuring, "'S fine, Blair."

The usage of her last name makes the edges of her mouth curl up, and for a moment, they just look at each other from across the table in silence. This one, though, is far more comfortable than the last. It's rather pleasant, really, in a way Vivian would've have expected some months before, when Gavin Clarke was still just a random prefect who she never spoke to.

Drawing in a breath, she says, "Well anyhow, if you're not going to let me pay for the book, I've got to give you _something."_

For some reason, he looks a little startled at this remark. In fact, his cheeks suddenly turn several shades redder, and an overall flustered countenance falls upon him. Vivian raises an eyebrow at him, wondering if he's going to start bawling after all, and just reaches forward to push Sense and Sensibility towards him.

"I know you're not an Austen fan, but at least we'll be even. Sort of."

An eye for an eye, a book for a book – that sort of thing.

Gavin's flushed appearance gives way to surprise. "Oh. Are you sure? Isn't it your only copy?"

Vivian shrugs. "I left my Austen collection at Hogwarts over break, so most of them are safe in my dorm. Besides, I can always get another one. I'm not obsessed with collector's editions like you are."

Right. She can buy another copy someday, when she works up the courage to venture into muggle London again, assuming that she ever does. In any case, it's Gavin's turn to be made speechless, and Vivian decides that she finds the sight just as agreeable as he had.

She smirks and stands up, gathers her belongings, and says, "I have Quidditch practice in half an hour. See you around, Gavin."

She leaves him there in that strangely flustered state, idly touching the cover of _'A Dictionary of Hexes, Vol. IV'_, staring after her with an odd look blazing through his eyes. And just as Vivian is stepping into the hallway, he shoves his things into his bookbag and bustles after her hurriedly, his Charms essay quite forgotten.

"I'll walk you to the Great Hall," he says when she sends him a questioning look. He falls into step beside her and bumps her shoulder.

And Vivian, well, she scoffs at him and bumps him back, a little harder than he had. The combination of the shove and the weight of his bookbag nearly sends him flying into the wall.

"Hey!" he exclaims, but she's too busy snickering as she strides ahead, and he's too busy joining in as he follows her, and they're both too busy to even notice the stormy grey gaze that is eyeing them from the other end of the corridor, widened first in surprise and then quickly narrowed in annoyance.

"Er…Padfoot?" Peter asks.

"Tosspot Clarke? Really? Why does she keep hanging around him?"

"They're friends, I guess," Remus supplies, and walks forward towards the library without waiting for the rest of them.

"But _Tosspot Clarke?"_

James rolls his eyes. "Oh come on. Weren't you going to start planning your next prank?"

Sirius just snorts and broodingly turns on his heel to stalk off in the direction they'd just come.

* * *

Vivian isn't sure what she had expected concerning the start of the new term. She figured that she would feel somewhat awkward around Sirius Black, considering what had transpired over the holidays. A general physical avoidance is hardly a deviation from her standard schedule, and to be perfectly honest, she'd rather thought that he would have forgotten about it by now. It's not that she actually thinks he's an idiot. Somehow, he manages to get top marks in nearly all of his classes, but – well, he's _Sirius Black_. Aren't boys of his caliber only interested in Quidditch, girls, and food? That he even has a sharp enough memory to recall the last few days at all is a shock in itself.

Anyway – she's not sure what she had expected, but it definitely wasn't_ this._

"_Black!"_ she hisses as she rounds the corner and sees him waiting outside of the Transfiguration classroom with his stupid friends. He's wearing his uniform in that stupidly casual, 'I-don't-care-about-dress-code' way, with a stupid grin on his face as he laughs at something Peter is saying, leaning against the window ledge in that stupid 'I'm-Sirius-Black-which-makes-me-awesome' manner.

God, he's so _stupid_. To think that she had ever thought him capable of something as honest as _kindness_.

At the sound of his name, he looks up, still grinning that stupid grin. When he sees her furious expression, though, his grin morphs into a smug smirk. She certainly doesn't miss the glance he shoots to the badge she's holding in her hand, or the way his smirk widens with pride, or the snickering way he nudges Potter, who actually looks somewhat confused. This must have been a rogue prank, then, concocted by Black all by himself. This realization doesn't make her any less furious. In fact, for some reason, it makes her even _angrier_.

"Something the matter, Godric?" Sirius drawls even as his eyes flash with knowledge.

By now, most of the other students waiting outside the classroom have all turned to watch the latest Vivian-Sirius drama. Their confrontations aren't exactly rare, and seeing as they usually end up with fiery insults and the occasional hex, everyone shuffles back a bit as Vivian storms down the corridor to where Sirius is standing, still casually leaning against the window ledge without a care in the world.

She vaguely sees Morrigan and Narcissa somewhere in the crowd, and Gavin hanging about with some fellow Ravenclaws, and Mauve quietly keeping to herself by one of the windows further down the hallway, but the brunt of her attention is focused on one person.

"What the fuck is this?" she demands, and doesn't stop walking until she's only a foot away from Sirius. She holds her prefect badge up, nearing shoving it in his face. Sirius doesn't even have the decency to move back, and just blinks at it with that blasé expression on his face, as if he doesn't understand why she's so upset.

"…Um. Your badge?" he asks in that stupidly smug voice. Beside him, Potter leans over, sees the badge, and chokes back a wave of laughter when he sees what has been done to it. His friend's reaction makes Sirius's smirk widen. He shrugs and drawls, "It must've been enchanted to reflect what you really are, Blair. Imagine that."

Vivian grits her teeth just as the badge changes from saying 'Pretentious Prick' to 'Pompous Prat'.

She'd like to punch the smirk right off of his face. What an arrogant little _shit_.

"Detention," she snarls, and swings around to go join Morrigan and Narcissa, who are watching the spectacle with raised eyebrows. She makes sure that her bookbag smacks into his _stupid_ body as she turns.

Sirius makes a show of looking innocently confused when he bemoans, "How do you know_ I_ did that? It could've been _anyone."_

The insult of that last part makes her scowl at him over her shoulder. Sirius looks somewhat pleased. What Vivian doesn't know, however, is that he isn't pleased to have angered her, or to have successfully pranked her, or anything like that. No, he's actually much more pleased that she is looking at him in the eye instead of ignoring his existence. He's definitely not going to let her pretend as though Christmas break hadn't happened. Granted, he's not entirely sure why he cares so much, but still.

For now, we'll blame it on pride, of which both Sirius Black and Vivian Blair have in droves.

"Six o'clock, fifth floor corridor near the stairs. If you're late, you'll be sorry," she sneers at him, and then notices that his smirk has turned into something a bit more…well, more like a smile. The difference might not seem that noticeable, on the surface. It's all in the eyes, really. The grey of them are less sharp, as if he's _pleased_ that he had gotten a detention. It's so strange that Vivian pauses for a moment and sends him a weird look as she tries to figure out what the hell is wrong with him _this_ time.

Unfortunately, though, there's just too many things to count. She rearranges her expression back into a sneer and hastens across the hallway to join her dormmates. And if she notices the way Sirius spends the entirety of their Transfiguration lesson staring at her from across the room, well –

She doesn't show it.

* * *

Vivian strolls into the fifth floor corridor at precisely 6:15. She doesn't really have a reason for her tardiness except for the fact that she fully expects that Sirius will be late to his detention and had decided to be a little late as well. Besides his notoriety for accumulating detentions throughout the school year (something Vivian is almost convinced is a game to him, as if he's trying to break his record), Sirius is equally as infamous for arriving to said detentions after they are scheduled to begin. She knows, because her track record isn't exactly stellar either, and she's sat through plenty of detentions with him in the past. He seems to enjoy sticking it to the professors by never being on time. To her knowledge, his longest record had been an hour and a half. (Not that she's counting – it's just that he annoys her so much that it's hard not to notice these things.)

Anyway, when she walks around the corner to where the staircases are located and sees Sirius leaning casually against the wall, chatting to a portrait of a lady in a frilly yellow ballgown, she's a little taken off guard. Surely he hadn't gotten here at six o'clock, when she had initially scheduled this detention. Sirius Black is never on time for _anything._

"You're late," he has the gall to tell her when she's within hearing distance.

Vivian raises an eyebrow at him. "You're early."

Sirius crosses his arms. "You said to be here at six o'clock."

"You're never on time to detentions."

"Oh, keeping track of me, are you? Have you joined my fan club? I think they send each other newsletters, these days. It's very well-organized." He sounds vaguely proud about this, whilst at the same time a little creeped out.

"You don't have a fan club, Black." She walks past him without pausing and heads further down the corridor. He pushes off the wall and makes to follow, slinging his hands into his pockets and striding behind her with his usual arrogant gait.

"I do have a fan club, actually," he sniffs. "It's made up of a ton of fifth year girls. A bit scary, if I'm being honest."

Vivian snorts and walks to the statue of Boris the Bewildered, who is standing guard beside a locked door. "Scared of a couple of fifteen-year-olds? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous," she drawls, shooting him a look.

Sirius mutters, "You'd be scared too, if you had to constantly be checking your food for love potions. So why are we standing outside of the prefect's bathroom? Fancy a bath, Godric?" He smirks down at her and raises his eyebrows suggestively, which naturally makes Vivian's expression fall into one of disgust.

She puts on her best Slytherin sneer, which at this moment is several shades more evil than usual, and scoffs, "No, but _you'll_ probably need one by the time this detention is over." Then, before he can say anything further or ask what she means, she turns to the statue of Boris the Bewildered and says, _"Fonticulus."_

The statue bows down a tiny bit, its hand waving towards the door as if inviting them inside. There's an audible click of a lock springing free, and Vivian immediately pushes the door open and bustles inside. Sirius moves somewhat more slowly, probably a little concerned with the growing realization of what this detention will entail.

"Are you really gonna make me clean shit out of the toilets?" he ventures, and glances back into the hallway as if he's tempted to make a run for it.

Vivian smirks widely. "I was actually going to make you clean the bathtub."

Said bathtub is enormous. It's practically the size of a small swimming pool. Dozens of faucets spout different types of fragranced water, bubbles, and beauty potions. It will probably take him the entire detention to clean it, and judging by the look on his face, he knows it.

"This is _evil,"_ he splutters.

"_This_ is what you get for fucking around with my badge," she returns.

"Oh come on – it was funny! Besides, it did the trick, didn't it?"

Vivian scowls at him. A lurch of suspicion roils through her. "What are you talking about?" she demands, only for Sirius to shrug innocently and smirk at her.

"We shared a _moment_ over break. I'm just wondering why you don't want to admit that our relationship has been taken to the next level," he breezily reminds her. Somehow, the innuendo in his voice makes it sound like said 'moment' had been a lot more than it actually was. To say that this annoys her is a gross understatement. (Emphasis on 'gross'.)

Stiffening, Vivian reaches for the door and slams it shut. The sound is so loud that it nearly makes Sirius jump a little in surprise. He doesn't, of course – that would probably make her immensely pleased, and he can't have that. Still, he does jerk a bit as he turns to eye her. His expression makes it clear that at least a part of him is waiting for her to draw her wand and hex him. it wouldn't necessarily be out of character.

Vivian's eyes are like ice when she turns back to him. There is a stony glamour about her countenance. She's obviously not in the mood for this, but then again, she rarely ever is. Waving her hand idly to the room, she ignores his attempts at discussing their 'moment' and drawls, "Give me your wand."

Sirius smirks widely. "Merlin, Blair. When I said our relationship has reached the next level, I didn't mean to imply – "

Vivian lets out a disgusted noise and snaps, "I'm not letting you use magic this time."

She shouldn't be surprised that her words barely faze him. Sirius just sends her a doubtful look, and sighs, "After the moment we shared, you ought to trust me more, Godric."

Vivian just scoffs at him and goes to sit down on the counter by the sinks. As she reaches for her bag to get out her book, she says, "Better start scrubbing, Black."

Sirius glowers at her, heaving a dramatic sigh as he strides over to the bucket of cleaning supplies that she had helpfully gathered for him. Oh yes, she's been very helpful. Inside is a scrub brush that's seen better days (more like decades, really) and a sponge that's so full of grime, it's a moldy brown color. There is nothing else.

"Are you _serious?"_ he demands, crossing his arms and glowering over at her. She can't expect him to use those – they're disgusting!

Vivian snorts and doesn't look up from her book. In a very dry voice, she responds, "If I was, I'd probably off myself for the betterment of the human race."

In his current disgusted state, it takes Sirius a moment to realize why she's suddenly talking about suicide. When he does, he just rolls his eyes and grumbles, "Oh that's _very_ funny, Blair. Hilarious, really. As if I've never heard _that_ sort of response to that question before."

She smirks and glances up at him with a wry sort of look blazing over her face. He rolls his eyes again and stares right back, and – quite suddenly, they're having another _moment_. Only neither of them realizes it, at first, because Vivian is too busy smirking at him and Sirius is too busy looking into wildfire eyes, and it takes them both a couple of seconds to realize that that's about _all_ they're doing. Vivian clears her throat and looks back down at her book, and Sirius loosens his tie and turns his attention back to the ancient scrub brush and moldy sponge, deciding that a better usage of his time would be to figure out which one is less likely to give him an incurable infection or some such thing. (It's a rather difficult choice, to be honest.)

"You know," he says as he crouches down to inspect his options closer, "all joking aside, we definitely _did_ have a moment. Don't deny it."

Vivian isn't going to deny it. She's just going to tell him to, "Shut up and start cleaning."

Sirius takes it as a denial anyway, though, because he's an annoying prat.

"You were crying," he reminds her.

"…I don't see how it's any of your business what I was doing," she replies, grasping her book tighter. She's starting to think that giving him a detention was a mistake. Actually, she's starting to think that by doing so, she'd played right into his end goal. She's not sure why he cares so much, or why he wants to talk about what had happened, but he seems incapable of letting it go.

"You've been ignoring me all week," he says as he plucks out the scrub brush with two fingers, half tempted to toss it across the room.

"It's not like we're in the habit of chatting about our feelings, Black," she mutters, and wishes he would shut up so that she can read.

"Look, I just don't understand – "

"And you're never going to understand, so why don't you mind your own fucking business," she cuts in vehemently, and flips a page of her book so roughly that the top of it tears a little bit. She'll have to fix that later or her father will probably have her head. Hypocrite. For someone who views books with such high esteem, he'd burned hers without even flinching.

Her harsh retort seems to quiet him down somewhat, because silence falls upon the room. She feels a vicious sense of satisfaction that she'd managed to shut him up – until of course she remembers that Sirius Black doesn't know _how_ to shut up. He's physically incapable of it.

"I was going to say that I don't understand why you're pretending that Christmas break never happened," he drawls, shooting her an annoyed look. "I know this is a shock for you, Blair, but I actually _do understand_ your motives behind it all. You're not that mysterious, you know."

She glares at him, but he's too busy plucking out the scrub brush and lowering the bucket into the tub, intent on filling it with soapy water to assist in his halfhearted cleaning. As he tries to determine which of the dozens of faucets has what he's looking for, he adds, "Maybe you've forgotten, but I ran away from home the summer of fifth year. I know what overbearing parents are like – and I know your parents well enough to say that you've been stuck with ones just as bad."

It takes him a few tries to find the faucet that spits out soapy water, and he upturns the bucket containing his previous attempts. His movements are a bit erratic from his annoyance, though, and at least half of it ends up splashing onto the tiled floor before it can reach its destination, covering the space with watered down beauty potion.

Vivian glares at him from her perch as she watches the mess he's making, fingers curling around her book with a vengeance, but still…he isn't done quite yet.

"I don't blame you for wanting to get away from it. I do, however, think it's a bit cowardly of you to try ignoring that it had happened at all," he says, sending her a challenging look. He's clearly trying to ruffle her feathers and get a reaction out of her. Maybe this was his purpose for pranking her to begin with, even. If so, Vivian doesn't appreciate it.

"We have very different definitions of what a coward is," she tells him bitterly, and sends him a challenging look of her own.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. Whether he's aware of it or not, he takes the bait she's just handed him when he scoffs, "Oh? And what's _your_ definition, then?"

She sneers at him. "Selfishly breaking free from your family and leaving your younger brother at the mercy of your 'overbearing' parents, that's what."

These words seem to rouse his anger in a way it hadn't been roused before, because the next glare Sirius sends her way is much more scathing than the previous ones. He abandons the scrub brush and stands up, crossing his arms and angrily responding, "Regulus has never been at anyone's mercy. He's always been the favored son. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" she drawls, narrowing her eyes at him. "Because I'm starting to think that he doesn't actually want to join the Dark Lord after all. Maybe he's only gone down that path because he knew it would please your parents, and – "

"He's wanted to become a Death Eater before they were even given a public identity," Sirius cuts in. His stormy eyes are borderline malicious. His voice shakes with anger. "He's got a fucking _wall_ in his _bedroom_ dedicated to newspaper clippings about Voldemort, like a twisted little shrine. You're giving him far too much credit, Blair. He's not doing this to make my dear old mum proud; he's doing it because he _wants_ to."

Vivian slams her book shut and stands up too, tucking it under her arm and hissing, "You haven't even _spoken_ to him at all in the past year, so how would you know if anything's changed? You're too busy messing around with your idiotic friends to care about him. The only thing of import in your life is playing pranks on people like some juvenile _child."_

"Why should I care about someone who's spent the last six years making my life a living hell? He doesn't _deserve_ my attention. He's turned my own parents against me – _he's_ the main reason I ran off to begin with!"

She lets out a cutting laugh. "Oh please. That's absolutely _rich!_ You really _are_ a juvenile child, Black!"

"Yeah, because Regulus would _never_ blab to my parents that I was going off to see my 'blood traitor' friends during summer breaks, or that I was hanging around muggle London when I was supposed to be in my room, or suggest to my father that perhaps he should use a _firmer hand_ with me because clearly, I needed a lesson to stop me from _acting out."_

Vivian opens her mouth to cut him off, but Sirius doesn't let her. He furiously throws down the scrub brush and, as it noisily drops onto the tiled floor, scathingly continues, "Your _dear, sweet_ Regulus would never tell me that the first thing he'll do after joining Voldemort is to request that I'm hunted down and 'dealt with'. He's just my younger brother – incapable of being anything but a complete gentleman. No, no, _I get it,_ Blair. Reggie is such a nice guy, on the surface. _Of course_ he's fooled you into believing his little act."

Finally, he falls silent. The both of them stare at each other from across the room, equally angry and also equally tired. Vivian feels the fight in her heart lessen somewhat as the silence drops down upon them. She hadn't expected Sirius to blow up like that and doesn't really know what to say, so when she blurts out, "Your father hit you?", it's just as unexpected to her as it is to him.

Sirius jerks back a bit, as if the question is a physical force that nearly topples him over. He's not nearly that graceless, of course, but the tentative way Vivian voices the inquiry has a strange effect on him. Suddenly, all of his anger fades away. What's left is bone-deep exhaustion.

"…It looks like both our fathers are pretty shitty," is all he says in response, and keeps staring at her with those annoyingly brooding eyes.

Vivian scoffs at him, but the sound isn't creased with the same anger it would have been, moments before. "My father would never hit me," she tells him, truly believing the words even as a part of her, however small, questions the authenticity of them.

Sirius seems to question them, too. He raises an eyebrow and drawls, "If he really is a Death Eater, then who's to say _what_ he's capable of?"

He's clearly recalling her admission that night at the Potter's house – the one where she had confessed that her father was the reason for her burned arms. But that was an _accident_. Completely unintentional.

"You don't know my father at all," she counters, angry again. He doesn't have the right to say any of those things about her family, or to claim that Lukas Blair is a Death Eater, or to speculate that he is indeed capable of making his own daughter suffer. Sure, he's correct on one account – that her father has joined the Dark Lord – but the rest of it isn't something he needs to bother himself with. It's none of his business.

Sirius laughs bitterly. His stormy eyes flash with yet another challenge as he retorts, "Don't I? I spent my entire childhood surrounded by people like him, and you're forgetting those lovely family dinners, back when we were betrothed. I know your father well enough." She stiffens at the mention of their betrothal, but Sirius just shakes his head at her and says, "I know _you,_ too, Blair. I know you better than you'd like to think."

Vivian narrows her eyes at him. Sirius narrows his right back.

"I know you're too proud to admit when you're wrong, and that you hide behind your family's influence because you don't think you can break free from it, and that you think it's better to blend into the sidelines rather than take a stand. You don't hate muggles as much as the rest of your friends do – if you even think of them as friends, that is – otherwise you wouldn't read their books or take daytrips into their world. You don't care much for authority unless it caters to your goals, and you don't know nearly as many hexes as you pretend to. You lie to your classmates because you don't want them to see you as being different from them. You're afraid of being the odd one out."

She stares at him in shock, but Sirius isn't done yet.

"But those things aren't really who you are. You like being by yourself because you don't have to pretend to be someone else when you're alone. You don't like following orders or having people tell you what to do. You – "

"That's enough," Vivian interrupts. She looks surprised and annoyed and shaken all at once. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting Sirius Black to call her out like this. He falls silent, staring at her as he waits for her response, but all she can say is a hoarse, "You like to think you know me so well but you don't. You're just trying to convince yourself that you're more observant than you actually are."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "We met when we were six years old, Godric. I've had years to figure you out."

She lifts her chin. "Yeah? Well I've had years to figure _you_ out, too." He smirks, and her mouth curls into a sneer as she says, "You think that you're better than everyone in the school – more handsome, more intelligent – which is why you're always trying to prove it to everyone around you. You're always chasing girls and pulling pranks on people because you think that's what everyone expects from you and you can't bear the thought of not living up to their opinions. You've spent years trying to pull away from the pureblood world. The reputation you've created here at Hogwarts is the only thing that makes you unique – that sets you apart from your family – and that's why you try so hard to keep it intact. But inside, you've got Slytherin blood. You're ambitious and cunning, and you hate those parts of yourself because they remind you of your old life, so you try to push them away. But you can't, Black, because they're a part of you. You try so hard to be a Gryffindor but I've seen the Slytherin in you."

This time, it's _his_ turn to look rattled. Vivian sneers at him and adds, "You've tried _so hard_ to not be anything like your family that you've formed a hatred of anything that resembles them even a little bit. You prey on Slytherins even when they haven't done anything to wrong you because it makes you feel like you're sticking it to your parents. You hate me because I represent what you would have become, if you hadn't met James Potter on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago."

His mouth has dropped a bit during her heated tirade. Vivian is rather proud of this. It takes a lot to make Sirius Black truly speechless.

She smirks meanly at him and edges forward. There's something in her gaze – a certain knowing, an understanding – that makes him uncomfortable. The truth is that her words ring with a little too much accuracy, but he isn't going to let her see that. Vivian Blair is already arrogant enough as it is.

Smug, prideful, haughty – those are the things that make up her character. Sirius sees them clear as day as he bristles there in the center of the prefect's bathroom and watches as she studies him with eyes that are far too perceptive for her own good. He feels, quite suddenly, as if she has just stripped him down to the core of his person. Has she always seen him so clearly?

Yes – smug and prideful – those are good words to describe her. But Sirius is starting to realize that there is more to her than just these things. Even now as she casually tears him down as easily as breathing, he remembers the shaking shoulders and the pale countenance; shallow, unkempt words trembling with something resembling fear as she had sat next to him on the Potter's couch and tried to hold back her tears. Maybe he's always known that there is more to her than the shallow arrogance of her outward persona. Maybe he had surprised himself, just now, when he had taken the liberty of informing her of all the ways he knows her, too. Had _he_ always seen _her_ so clearly?

"You know," he croaks, and then grimaces at the sound of his own voice. After clearing his throat, he continues, "I think this is the longest conversation we've ever had."

Vivian snorts. She tilts her chin up and murmurs, "Hopefully it'll be the last."

She's just a little surprised at the cocky smile Sirius sends her upon hearing this.

"You don't mean that, Godric. I know you secretly enjoying arguing with me," he breezily responds, watching her closely. So closely, in fact, that it almost looks as if he's trying to peer right into her mind.

"I don't," she retorts.

Sirius smirks and shuffles forward. "Well I think – " and the rest of his words are rather drown out, because that's when he ends up slipping on the tiled floor in a truly spectacular feat of gracelessness. In the heat of their exchange, he has apparently forgotten about the water that had splashed out of the bucket while he had still been pretending to take her detention seriously. The sudsy concoction makes the floor quite slippery, and Vivian barely manages to reach out and grab a fistful of his shirt before he falls.

Once again, it isn't entirely planned on her part. That she seems to be continuously saving him in this manner is something she outwardly scoffs at. This isn't some silly fairy tale where either of them needs saving, after all – even from something as stupid as a wet floor. Yet she does – save him, that is – without even realizing she's doing it until it's already done and Sirius is being jerked towards her from the momentum of it all, suddenly inches away.

"…You do," he finishes. They are so close that his breath fans over her cheek.

Their eyes lock; a tumultuous storm swept up in wildfire brown, fierce and brilliant as it presses past the boundaries that have quite abruptly fallen away. It is like a barricade that's been brought down, explosions shaking the foundations until the whole of it crumbles away. Only the bare bones are left, almost skeletal in their construction – begging to be rebuilt.

Vivian rips her hand away and takes a step back. Why her heart is hammering in her chest, she doesn't know. Why her skin is shivering from his proximity, she's not sure. Normally, she would label it as a general disgust to be near him, but this time, her mind is too fuzzy and too windblown to bother making up excuses. She's too busy staring at him, fingers still burning from being pressing against his form. She can still feel the texture of his shirt against her skin and the roughness of his breath against her cheek and the intensity of his eyes as he had hovered over her. It is like a sensory overload and she's reeling from the after-effects of it.

When something like this happens in a novel, time seems to pass unknowingly by. Its seconds press up against each other like a blusterous gale. Time is lost to the occupants of the pages – minutes could have passed, or hours even, and they wouldn't have felt it at all. That is not the case now. This isn't one of her novels, and Vivian feels every second tick by with a slow and grating vengeance. She feels time as if it is a tactile thing, tangible and distinct. Its passage is almost physical.

"I think – " she begins, and then clears her throat. Her voice is loud in the silence, and it echoes in a way she hadn't noticed before, when they were both speaking. The marble fixtures and tiled floor have a lurching sort of effect on it. Sirius stares at her with those brooding, tumultuous eyes and waits. She purses her lips, fights back the desire to shuffle beneath his gaze, and finishes, "I think this detention is over."

He doesn't respond, at first. He only watches – brooding, tumultuous – as Vivian swallows and turns towards the door. She hurries to it, walking quickly enough to make her discomfort obvious. It isn't until she reaches the door and shoves it open that Sirius speaks.

"You do secretly enjoy arguing with me. Don't you," he says. It's not a question, and usually these words would have been said in a smug tone. This time, though, it sounds more like a quiet sort of observation, as if he's talking about something as mundane as whether or not it will rain next Tuesday.

Vivian pauses with her hand on the doorknob. She hesitates for a moment, staring at the other end of the corridor as she stands in the threshold. Then – she glances back to look at him. Wildfire locks onto temperamental clouds. It blazes behind her eyes and shifts into her voice when she says, "No."

She can tell that he doesn't believe her, so she sends him a glower and makes sure to slam the door on her way out.


	36. Ex talionis

**Chapter Thirty Six | Ex talionis**

**[Of retaliation]**

The early morning dawn has a way of winding into Gryffindor Tower even with the heavy crimson drapes pulled taut over the windows. It is early still, not quite time to get dressed and head down to breakfast, but Remus is already awake. He's taken to the routine of getting up earlier than most of his housemates so as to get his homework finished up before his friends are able to wrangle him into their usual homework-is-for-losers rants. (Please. As if they don't do their assignments. They would have flunked out of school years ago if that was the case.)

Anyway, he's getting ready to head down to the common room and is tossing a pair of trousers and a clean shirt onto his bed. His ties are proving to be rather difficult to locate, and he's riffling around his trunk as quietly as he can in hopes of finding one among its contents. It's as he's moving a stack of textbooks that the usual ease of his morning routine takes something of a turn.

"…secretly…hmm like arguing…" a sleepy voice mumbles, barely coherent, from across the room. Remus lifts his head to stare at the curtains around Sirius's bed and raises an eyebrow. Sleep-talking is something that Peter is more inclined to do, not Sirius.

With the curtains pulled closed around the bed, Remus can't see Sirius's expression or anything that might give way to what it is that he's dreaming about, but he can hear him roll over with a loud sigh. The sound of bedcovers being shifted precipitates another mumbled, "Hmmmm…arguing with me…"

Remus is, by now, quite confused. Of course, his confusion only lasts about as long as it takes Sirius to sleepily mumble one name, and then all Remus feels is an exasperated sort of amusement at his friend's stubborn and ongoing denial.

"…Vivi…"

And then, with a great gasp, Remus hears a heavy thud and looks over to see Sirius lying face-first on the floor of the dormitory, legs tangled still in his sheets.

"You alright, Sirius?" Remus wonders, looking a bit startled. He's still in his pajamas, hair tousled from sleep, but his eyes are more alert than ever as he takes in the prone form of his friend.

Sirius groans and pushes himself up. Had he really fallen out of bed? Had he really _dreamt_ of Vivian Blair? Merlin help him.

"…Fine," he responds groggily, half tempted to just lay back down. He might've, if the floor wasn't so uncomfortable.

Remus eyes him carefully, though Sirius doesn't see because he's too busy contemplating whether or not he should skip classes for the day and hang out behind the greenhouses instead.

"Bad dream, I take it?" Remus casually says, trying to wrangle down his amusement. Please. He doubts that a dream about Vivian Blair could constitute as a bad one, seeing how Sirius is basically in love with her. As Remus pulls his uniform shirt over his head, James snorts from where he's lying in his bed across the room.

"I coulda sworn I heard you say 'Vivian'," the boy murmurs as he rolls over, apparently more awake than he'd let on. Thankfully, Peter is still out like a light, softly snoring behind the crimson drapes of his bed. Small favors.

Sirius scowls and stands up, running a hand through his black hair and striding over to his trunk to search for a clean towel. "I didn't," he mutters, and grabs the first one he sees.

"Didn't you?" James smirks. The effect is somewhat lacking in its usual mischief due to his sleepy expression, but there's enough of said mischief to make Sirius roll his eyes nonetheless.

"I'm taking a shower," he declares. It's a bit unnecessary, seeing as he's already on his way to the bathroom even as he says it. Unfortunately for him, though, he fails to realize what such a proclamation might produce in the current situation.

James is only too eager to crow, "Ooh a cold shower, huh – " But Sirius is already slamming the door shut behind him before James can properly tease him, which rather lessens the appeal. Of course, everything is made up for when the slamming door startles Peter into wakefulness and the boy sits straight up in bed, wrangling with the crimson curtains as if he thinks they're attacking him.

"…Are the pancakes gone?" he mumbles, still half asleep. He wildly looks around the room as if searching for his favorite breakfast food.

Remus sighs. "The pancakes are still here, Peter, don't worry."

James smirks. "But the maple syrup is all out, I'm afraid."

Peter's expression immediately creases into intense disappointment. "…Maple syrup? Gone? Pancakes…" And then he flops back into bed and rolls over, mumbling for a few seconds more until his snores once again displace the silence.

Remus and James look at each other with raised eyebrows. It isn't necessarily Peter's pancake-mutterings that bring such expressions into existence, though.

"I think today is going to be a 'brooding' sort of day," James sighs, glancing at the closed door that Sirius had just slammed his way out of.

Remus sighs too and mutters, "Seems like it."

"Well hopefully for Peter's sake, they'll serve pancakes at breakfast."

"At least _one_ of us would be happy."

* * *

It would perhaps be unfair to claim that, as a member of the male species, Sirius Black has a limited range of emotions to draw from. A more accurate depiction of his character is that, as a member of the male species, he prefers not to let said range of emotions show too apparently. That said, his 'brooding' expression is utilized when a certain amount of that reservation is required in the situation at hand. This quality can be linked to a wide variety of dilemmas, including but not limited to: a general annoyance regarding the population, work ethic, extracurricular activities, and scholastic studies of Hogwarts; emotional, mental, or intellectual turbulence that necessitates thinking very deeply about something (whether it be a prank or something more serious); or a shifting through of memories better left unrecalled, mainly of a familial nature. In this particular case, however, a fourth chain of dilemmas seems to have cropped up, which calls for a bit more brooding than usual. This dilemma is, of course, a preoccupation with a certain brown-eyed Slytherin, who seems to have made it her goal in life to get under his skin, even when he's _sleeping_.

He can't shake the dream even as he sits through breakfast, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Before he even realizes it, his every thought is consumed by her. His mind is reeling between the events that had occurred over Christmas break, the detention the night before, and the dream – so much so that he hardly hears what any of his friends are saying throughout the day. His brooding only gets worse due to one simple yet definite fact: that Vivian Blair happens to be in quite a few of his classes, and that she's apparently gotten over ignoring him after their detention last night.

Ah yes. The day has been a series of her usual sneering glances and judgmental glowers. It's hardly been any different from any other day, really, but for some reason it rankles him more than usual. It's that _dream_. The thought of dreaming about her is unsettling enough to spark something in him – only he doesn't know what it is and he doesn't know what to do about it.

"So…are you gonna tell me what's going on with you?" James wonders as they walk into the dungeons for their Potions class that afternoon.

His hands are swinging idly at his side as they head into the beginning of what he likes to call 'Slytherin territory' (usually with an exaggeratedly disgusted shiver). His carefree movements are a far cry different from his friend's, who is lacking his usual casual self-assuredness. Instead, Sirius has his head bowed as he broodingly stares at the floor, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his black school robes. His gait is tenser than usual, and the black hair that falls into his eyes makes him seem not quite dangerous but not quite sulking; somewhere in between, perhaps.

He snorts, and glances over at James, who raises his eyebrows questioningly in a silent prompt. Honestly, there's no one in the world who can brood like Sirius Black. It's practically hardwired into his DNA. His ability to be a charming vagabond one moment and icily sullen the next is something that James would probably be impressed with – if Sirius doesn't make it so damned hard for everyone around him when he's in such a state, that is. One can only take so much of his brooding, after all, before one wants to, say, push him into a wall (or five).

"It's nothing," he grunts, and James rolls his eyes.

Make that six walls, and counting.

"I guess you don't have to tell me. I know _exactly_ what it is. Or should I say _who_ it is?" James breezily wonders, looking straight ahead and refusing to meet Sirius's eyes, because he knows for a fact that they are currently set into a glower.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sirius says through gritted teeth, clearly not appreciating being called out on. It could also be the fact that the corner of James's mouth is currently pulled up into a knowing smirk. It's the very same smirk that Sirius has been seeing more and more, whenever a certain Slytherin is mentioned.

James shrugs innocently as they turn the corner. The Potions classroom is at the very bottom of the dungeons, and they're fast approaching it. He's got to act quickly.

Clearing his smirk as best he can (it takes a lot of effort, really), James sighs, "Look, Padfoot, you're obviously beating yourself up about what happened during Christmas break. You might as well get it out of your system."

Sirius's brooding glower is quite impressive, but James has had years to work up an immunity to it, and when it is turned fully towards him, he merely blinks back and raises an eyebrow. That he's waiting for the inevitable explosion is apparent; Sirius can only last so long in his brooding state before he snaps. James knows from personal experience.

"I'm not _beating myself up_ about it," Sirius gripes indignantly.

Ah, so they're not quite out of the denial stage yet. That's fine. By the end of the day, James will force it out of him.

"Then what _are_ you doing?" he inquires, and tries not to let his voice descend into dry sarcasm, which surely won't help matters any.

Sirius releases a heavy, impatient sigh. "You and Remus seem to be under the very false impression that there's something going on between Blair and I."

"You had a dream about her this morning," James points out.

"Yeah, and I also had a dream about Filch slow dancing with Mrs. Norris in a frilly pink tutu while handing us detentions. What of it?"

James pauses, momentarily distracted by this, and laughs, "That sounds like a great prank, really – we should find ourselves a tutu and get on it!"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Wonderful idea, Prongs. _Anyway,_ I don't have to tell you _everything_ – especially whatever stupid dreams I may or may not be having."

James pauses again. Years of teetering on the edge of Hogwart's Law (as Filch likes to say) has honed both his wit and his awareness of his Marauding associates, AKA friends, to such an extent that he absolutely catches onto the hidden meaning of Sirius's words. He clears his throat, pushes his glasses up, and slyly wonders, "So you've had more than one dream, have you?"

He sees the way Sirius momentarily stumbles. Well, it isn't a stumble so much as a pause in his stride, but the semantics don't matter. It still means the same thing: that once again, his incredible powers of observation have hit the nail on the head, so to speak.

"…I was referring to dreams in general," Sirius mutters, and walks faster.

James resists the urge to sing 'oh no you weren't!' in an obnoxiously high-pitched voice (truly, it takes a lot of effort), and just walks faster as well. They reach the spiral staircase going down into the lower parts of the dungeons where Slughorn's classroom is and begin their downward descent. A few of their classmates are also making their way down, so James lowers his voice so as to not attract unwanted attention. The brooding would only worsen if anyone else was privy to this particular conversation.

"Point is, you need to get this out of your system, and it's clear that enchanting her prefect's badge didn't work, so maybe you should – "

"Hi Sirius," someone interrupts, unknowingly cutting off James's quiet speech. Both boys turn to see who it is, only to see Sophia Keene leaning against the wall outside of the Potions classroom. She's wearing a smile that cannot be mistaken for pure friendliness, due to the way she's peering through her eyelashes in that manner many females do, when they want something. Or, in this case, some_one_.

Sirius Black knows that look _quite_ well.

"…You're absolutely right, Prongs," he murmurs, mouth curling into a smile that James immediately identifies as his 'I'm-going-to-find-a-broom-closet' expression. Yes, such an expression does exist, and yes, James does know it, because he's learned that whenever the brooding state comes out, all bets are most certainly off. It's more of an effort to know what next bout of trouble Sirius will be diving into than a real desire to memorize the endless qualities of his smirks.

"Er. Come again?" James wonders, watching as Sirius runs a hand through his tousled black hair and sets his shoulders back.

Sirius raises his chin. He's still got that brooding look in his eye, but to be quite honest, it doesn't do a single thing to decrease the impact of his charm. In fact, it only serves to heighten it. For some reason, girls seem to _love_ when Sirius Black is in a brooding mood. Something about it making him seem like a tall, dark, and handsome _bad boy_ (for the record, those are not _James's_ words – he'd sooner vomit than ever call Sirius a 'bad boy').

"What better way to get that snake out of my head than to replace her with someone else?" Sirius rhetorically wonders, and with that, he steps away from James to instead lean _charmingly_ against the wall beside Sophia Keene, who honesty looks as if she's been graced with the sight of heaven itself.

Never mind the fact that Sirius had just admitted to having Vivian Blair in his head – a feat in and of itself – it hardly matters when he's currently turning his brooding charm onto someone else.

James shakes his head and strides over to where Remus and Peter are standing a ways off, muttering to himself as he goes and feeling rather annoyed about Sirius being an idiot and not hearing him out.

"Was gonna say 'talk to her'," he mumbles as he reaches his friends' sides.

"What was that?" Remus asks, glancing up from the notes that he's holding, doing some last minute studying for his Care of Magical Creatures quiz or some such thing.

"_Nothing,"_ James broodingly responds, crossing his arms and glowering across the corridor at where Sophia Keene is giggling at something Sirius is saying.

Remus and Peter just look at each other and raise their eyebrows, but they don't say anything further. A brooding James is not something to be taken lightly.

* * *

"BLACK! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

The Slytherin Quidditch team all stops to turn and look at Regulus, who has been noticeably preoccupied since practice had begun. This is the third time he's let the quaffle through the goal, and Avery is obviously losing patience with him. That is to say, he'd lost patience after the first failure, and now he's literally seething.

As he zooms over to the goals to have a word with Regulus (more like a screaming match), Vivian drops down to hover beside Morrigan and Mauve, who are both watching Avery tear into Regulus on the other end of the field. Vivian feels a bit bad for him, but it's not as if Regulus can't take it.

"What's gotten into him, I wonder?" Morrigan drawls, leaning back on her broom as she reaches up to adjust her ponytail. At her side, Mauve grunts in a manner that suggests she has no bloody clue, and Vivian shrugs.

"Unresolved anger issues?" she guesses.

Morrigan rolls her eyes. "I didn't mean Avery, I meant Regulus. He's been distracted all practice."

Vivian doesn't respond at first. She studies Regulus from across the field and frowns. Her eyes don't linger on him for very long, because every time she looks at him, she's reminded of the _moment_ they'd shared on Christmas Eve, in Malfoy's gardens, and she feels a flurry of something strange in the pit of her stomach whenever those memories crop up. They aren't warm enough to be nostalgic or yearning, but not cold enough to be true discomfort. Every time she considers the almost-kiss they'd shared between the snowy hedgerows, she's struck with an inability to decide if she'd wanted him to kiss her or not. It's like she can't quite make up her mind.

What's more, she can't seem to stop thinking about what Sirius had said, just the night before, about how Regulus has a wall dedicated to newspaper clippings about the Death Eaters.

"…He's probably just having a bad day," Vivian mutters. Even as she says it, it sounds like a flimsy excuse. Morrigan seems to think so, too.

She casts a knowing glance at Vivian and raises her eyebrows. Those looks have become somewhat familiar over the course of the last week since they've returned to Hogwarts, and Vivian is very much aware of what they mean. After all, Morrigan had been the one to interrupt them in the gardens. She'd seen just how close they were. It doesn't take a lot to figure out what had been about to happen, and since then, Morrigan's been absolutely _annoying_ about it. The only silver lining to her knowledge is that she hasn't yet gabbed about it to anyone else. Rosalind would surely have a field day with such gossip and would no doubt spread it around the school within an hour. Vivian definitely doesn't need to deal with that, especially since…well, since she doesn't think she actually _wants_ to be with Regulus.

Grey eyes flash through her mind, but they don't belong to _him_.

"Shut up," Vivian sneers at her.

Morrigan smirks. "I didn't say anything."

Mauve looks between them in confusion, but doesn't ask what they're talking about.

"WHAT ARE YOU LOT DOING? GET BACK TO PRACTICE!" Avery's voice sounds, and they all look up to see that he's shouting at the rest of them.

Adrian snorts and mutters, "Prat," but just dips into a dive and resumes flying, going to retrieve the lost quaffle so that they can continue practice.

"For once, he's right," Morrigan drawls, eyeing Mulciber as he flies low over the field, bent over his broom to urge it forward.

Vivian grunts and tips her broom up. Avery wants her to practice her dives today because apparently he's coming up with a new formation that includes the Seeker and Beaters. Vivian isn't sure how that will work out, seeing as feints and stunts usually exclude the Seeker entirely, but she isn't about to complain and rile him up any more than he already is. Since the Gryffindor-Slytherin match has been moved to mid-January, he's been a complete arsehole during practices. Though seeing as he usually is, perhaps this is just a facet of his charming personality.

"Ready, McCallum?" she calls as the Beater follows her higher into the air. Since Avery is still chewing Regulus out for his lack of focus, Mauve is the only Beater available. Just as well. Avery's a shit Beater, if you ask her. Not that she'd ever say such a thing aloud. He'd probably sentence her to run laps until the end of practice for her 'insubordination', the arsehole.

"Ready when you are," Mauve shrugs, gripping her bat and waiting for Vivian to start flying. The play that Avery had come up with had been inspired from Potter's feint during the last match, when Gryffindor had gone up against Ravenclaw. It's not uncommon for Seekers to pretend to see the snitch in order to throw the other team's Seeker off the search. This particular move is supposed to protect the Seeker from the brunt of the action, in the instance that the snitch is right in the middle of the field and not hovering further away from the other players. It's what Avery likes to call his Power Move to Instantly Win the Game Against Those Gryffindor Losers. Vivian personally isn't very impressed with the title.

Her and Mauve practice their flying formation for a few minutes until Avery rejoins them, looking more annoyed than he had when he'd flown over to the goal hoops to yell at Regulus. Vivian and Mauve glance at each other silently when he flies over to them, a bit wary to be working alongside him when he's in such a foul mood.

"LLOYD! YOU DROP THE QUAFFLE ONE MORE TIME AND YOU'LL BE DOING BLEACHERS!" he hollers, making the two of them grimace. Of course, they hurry to clear their expressions before he catches sight of them, lest he take his anger out of them, too.

"You're flying too fast, Blair. McCallum, lay off the fucking pumpkin pasties, would you? Lose some weight or I'll replace you with the reserve Beater," he grouses in an angry tone, much to Mauve's horror.

Vivian glares at him. "What the fuck, Avery? That was so uncalled for."

Mauve's face is quickly turning a splotchy red, but luckily for her, Avery's attention is no longer on her. He turns darkened eyes to Vivian and seethes, _"Excuse me?"_

Oh Merlin. She bites her tongue, intent on not saying another word – until she happens to glance over at Mauve and sees that her fingers are shaking and she looks like she wants to cry. Gritting her teeth, Vivian snaps, "McCallum's got a good arm. She's a better Beater than our reserve."

"She might have a good arm, but she's a slow flyer – "

"Well telling her to stop eating isn't going to help the situation," Vivian interrupts with a sharp glare.

"I'll damn well tell her whatever the fuck I _want to tell her,"_ Avery hisses, flying a bit closer in an obvious attempt to intimidate her.

It doesn't work as well as he probably wishes it would, because all Vivian does in response is straighten out her shoulders and spit, "She did just fine in the game against Hufflepuff!"

"Yeah, and we _barely_ won that match, no thanks to McCallum."

"Well if _I_ was the Captain – "

"WELL YOU'RE _NOT_ THE FUCKING CAPTAIN, BLAIR, I AM!" he roars, clearly at the end of his rope.

Vivian sneers viciously at him and opens her mouth to tell him that he's a shit Captain anyway, but he cuts her off to snap, "Congratulations. You can run laps for the rest of practice. Take McCallum with you – she should get into better shape." He sneers at them both and takes off, flying over to the Chasers to bark orders at them.

Vivian's expression is set into a vicious snarl for the rest of practice. It doesn't help that Mauve is acting quieter than usual as they take to the ground to begin their punishment. The situation is made even worse when the sky opens up ten minutes in and it begins to rain.

"That – fucking – bastard," Vivian pants as she rounds the curve of the pitch by the goals. As members of the team, neither Vivian nor Mauve are out of shape otherwise they wouldn't have positions to begin with, but Mauve is decidedly less enamored with the idea of running laps than even Vivian is, which is obviously not saying much. She's breathing hard by Vivian's side, moving slightly slower even as she presses herself forward with surprising tenacity.

From high above them, a voice calls, "Only fifteen more minutes, you two!" and they both glare up at where Regulus is hovering in front of the goal hoops, getting ready to defend them from the Chasers, who are now receiving the brunt of Avery's anger.

In her exhaustion, Vivian considers telling him to piss off, but ultimately can't bring herself to work up the strength, and figures that it's not like it's his fault anyhow. Unlike Theodore Avery, she doesn't take her anger out on faultless members of society just for kicks. Usually. (Some exceptions apply, of course.) In any case, fifteen minutes is a long time, especially when the rain is quickly making the ground muddy and sodden. By the time practice is over, Vivian is in a particularly foul mood. Said foul mood lingers as she takes a quick shower, pulls her uniform back on, and storms back into the castle for dinner.

"Shove over," she demands, pushing Rosalind a bit as she throws herself onto the bench at the Slytherin table and immediately digs in without any further words. Rosalind is quite indignant about it all, but one look at the team that is currently throwing themselves into dinner with equal zeal and she seems to figure out that it's Quidditch drama and nothing personal.

Not that this stops her from sniffing, "Well _you're_ in a bitchy mood tonight. What happened?"

Vivian only glowers at her in a silent order to not bring it up. Rosalind raises an eyebrow at this and sniffs again, returning to her conversation with Miriam Bulstrode, who is sitting beside her and gossiping about whatever latest drama has taken over the school. Vivian usually ignores such conversations entirely, but before she can tune them out, she overhears Miriam whispering, "And _then_ they were caught by Pince in one of the rows in the library, snogging against the bookshelf!"

Rosalind's eyes widen in the way they always do when something particularly scandalous is brought up for discussion. "Really? Are you sure it was Sophia and not her sister? Because Leah dated him for three weeks at the end of last year, remember?"

Vivian rolls her eyes and angrily stabs at her dinner, cursing Avery as she shoves a forkful of mashed potatoes into mouth.

"No, it was definitely Sophia. I was in the library when it happened."

Rosalind releases a sigh. "Why won't he ever date Slytherins? I'd do just about anything for a snogging session in the restricted section!"

Vivian's eyebrow twitches. She casts a wary glance at Rosalind, but she's not sure if it's because of her poor taste in snogging spots or the fact that the object of their gossip doesn't get with Slytherin girls. It sounds awfully familiar.

Miriam shrugs. "Well anyway, look. There they are now. I told you the rumors were true." She nods her head across the hall.

Against her better judgement, Vivian glances over and promptly starts choking on her pumpkin juice. It certainly doesn't make Rosalind any more gracious towards her, because the girl throws her a disgusted glance as she turns her head to look at Sirius Black and Sophia Keene, who are at this very moment striding towards the Gryffindor table looking very pleased with themselves. Sirius's arm is strewn around Sophia's shoulders, and the brooding expression he's been wearing for the last few days seems to have disappeared, because his customary smug grin is back in place.

"Ugh. I can't believe it," Rosalind mutters to Miriam, who nods in agreement.

"Jenna told me that she overheard Malcolm saying to Erin that they're dating now. I think he's just using her for a couple of snogging sessions though."

"You're probably right. I mean, Black doesn't _date_. The longest relationship he's ever been in lasted what, a month?"

"Three and a half weeks, actually," Miriam corrects.

"Plus Sophia Keene is the biggest slag in school," Rosalind adds.

"Yeah, she hooked up with Benjamin Garrick _and_ Charles Nash in the same week last year."

"Clearly she's got really poor taste, too, if she was with _Nash. _He's got buckteeth."

"True, though I've heard that he's actually quite – "

"_Would you both shut up,"_ Vivian hisses. Their endless prattle is making her already foul mood completely irreversible. It doesn't help that her stomach is doing all sorts of weird flips as she glaringly watches Sophia dab the corner of Sirius's mouth with her napkin, giggling all the way. Honestly, if she hadn't just come back from Quidditch practice, where she's spent a good portion of it twisting through the air practicing her dives, she'd wonder what was wrong with her tonight.

Rosalind and Miriam glower at her for rudely cutting off their stream of gossip, and bend their heads together to continue in quieter voices. Vivian just throws her fork down and pushes her plate away, her appetite lost as she watches Sirius turn his face to press a kiss to Sophia's cheek. Sophia immediately bursts out into loud giggles that can be heard all the way across the Great Hall.

"God, that's so disgusting," Vivian mutters, mourning the loss of her appetite. They're serving chicken sauterne tonight, too. Her favorite.

"Yeah, it is," a voice suddenly drawls in agreement, and she looks up to see Regulus bunkering down onto the bench beside her. He looks revolted as he reaches for the plate of asparagus. Vivian shifts a bit as he forks some onto his plate, and doesn't respond.

Conversations between them have been pretty awkward since returning to Hogwarts. Every time she looks at him, Vivian can't help but recall how close they had stood in Malfoy's gardens, and how soft his eyes had been, and how he looked like he desperately wanted to kiss her. Since then, they have carefully skirted around the topic of their almost-kiss, but sometimes she catches him looking at her in a way that resembles his expression in those gardens – quietly yearning, cautiously impassioned. The intensity of his eyes in those moments make her uncomfortable, so she always looks away.

"Managed to wrangle yourself away from Avery, I see," Vivian drawls, pulling her attention away from the sight of Sirius Black's latest conquest. She casts a quick glance at Regulus before looking back at her dinner. The next bite she takes it mainly to distract herself from the way he's looking at her from the corner of his eye.

Regulus shrugs. "I probably deserved it. I've had…a lot on my mind lately."

She dares not ask what he's got on his mind. If she's being honest with herself, she already knows the answer anyway. Besides their moment in the gardens, there's also his connections with the Death Eaters. She isn't self-centered enough to think that he was distracted only because of her, but she suspects that she has at least something to do with it, if his intense eyes have anything to say about it.

"…Vivian, maybe we should talk," he murmurs, his voice low and quiet so as to not attract anyone's attention. He studies her profile. It's painfully apparent to him that she's refusing to meet his eyes – just as she's been doing all week.

She sets her shoulders back and finally turns to look at him for longer than a few jittery seconds. Iron-clad grey flashes back at her, softened just so in the flickering light of the thousand candles floating above them. She realizes in that moment that it is possible for someone like Regulus Black to look pleading after all, because his eyebrows are furrowed in appeal.

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, the rest of the Quidditch team arrives at the table. Their loud voices and frustrated complaints wash away the small bubble of space growing between them, leaving them both feeling partially disheartened and partially relieved.

" – freezing my arse off because of that prat," Morrigan bemoans as she falls onto the bench beside her fellow Chaser, Anthony Lloyd. The two of them start going back and forth as if they're trying to one-up each other with the animosity of their complaints.

"Later," Vivian tells Regulus. He doesn't argue, but doesn't look overly pleased as he returns to his meal.

They do need to talk about it, she supposes. The events surrounding Christmas Break and the moment they shared at the Malfoy party? The information that she had learned about him just last night, from his brother's own mouth?

Vivian doesn't know _what_ to talk about. She thinks there's a spark of attraction for Regulus somewhere within her, but it isn't an overpowering sensation. She thinks it would be strange if she _wasn't_ attracted to Regulus. Sure, he's a year younger than her, but what's a couple of months? Besides that, most of the girls in Slytherin house – and surely, the school at large – find the younger Black brother compelling. With his aristocratic features and his magnetic eyes, it would be difficult not to feel _something_ for him.

But whatever Vivian Blair feels towards Regulus Black, it is like a brush of wind against her heart, shifting it so minutely that it is barely felt at all. Human hearts are like locks, and he does not possess the key.

"_Oh, Sirius, honestly!" _Sophia Keene giggles, and Vivian's attention is drawn back to the Gryffindor table just in time to see Sirius whispering something in her ear. Her cheeks turn a disgusting shade of pink at whatever it is he's murmuring, which makes it fairly apparent that said murmurs are most likely of a scandalous nature.

Her stomach does that weird flip again, and she grunts in disgust. There's this edge of frustration pooling within her. The more she watches the interaction playing out across the hall, the more the feeling grows, until it has gained so much momentum that it seems to rush through her like a broken dam being torn asunder. The waterfall of emotions that slams into her when she watches Sirius turn his head and capture Sophia's mouth in a proper kiss – they aren't anything that can be readily identified. Instead, she puts it down to disgust and anger, and feels her eyes narrow into a glare.

God, he is so revolting. Can't he go find a broom closet instead of making out in front of the entire school, during _dinner?_ She's trying to _eat,_ for Merlin's sake.

"I've completely lost my appetite," she mutters darkly, pushing away from the table and reaching down to grab her Quidditch bag. She'd come directly from the pitch rather than making a detour to the Slytherin common room, so she's still got all of her things to lug back to her dorm. As she stands up, she casts one last glowering look at the Gryffindor table, where Sirius is perfectly distracted with his latest plaything. Considering how often his brooding eyes have been finding her these last few days, it feels odd that he doesn't even notice her taking her leave. Her stomach roils again at the thought. She scowls, angry that her appetite has fled her, annoyed that Rosalind and Miriam are still gossiping like old ladies living vicariously through other people, and generally pissed off that Sirius Black is, well, such a colossal prat.

She glowers over at the Gryffindor table for all of three seconds before she turns with a sneer to Regulus and bites out, "You know what? I think we _should_ have that talk right now, Black. Come on."

Regulus, who is in the middle of taking a bite of his dinner, sends her a raised eyebrow. So does Morrigan, for that matter. Vivian ignores them both and grouses, "Hurry up."

Regulus pauses, swallows, and complains, "But I just sat down – "

"You can eat later," Vivian interrupts, and turns on her heel to storm out of the Great Hall, fully expecting Regulus to follow. Which he does, some minutes later, looking a bit stormy himself.

"When I said we should talk, I didn't mean _right now,"_ he mutters when he catches up to her. Vivian is waiting just outside the Great Hall for him, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, looking quite surly as she glares at the cobblestones beneath her shoes. As he approaches, looking just as surly, she rolls her eyes.

"Well you shouldn't have bothered saying it at all then," she replies. This time, _he_ rolls his eyes. Vivian sighs and mutters, "Look, Regulus…you're right. We probably _should_ talk about…what happened."

There's a certain reluctance in her voice that Regulus can't help but take notice of. Vivian would have to be blind not to see the way he's looking at her now, all careful and prying. He must know what she's about to say, because rather than let her go ahead and voice her thoughts, he steps forward to heave her Quidditch bag over his shoulder and starts walking off towards the entrance to the dungeons. Vivian is so taken aback by this that, for a moment, all she does is stare after him.

Regulus doesn't wait and Vivian knows him well enough by now to realize that if she doesn't follow him, he's going to leave her behind. It is with an equal amount of that reluctance that she pushes off of the wall and shoves her hands in her pockets, glowering at the back of his head even as she goes after him.

"What are you doing?" she asks when she finally falls into step beside him.

Regulus turns his head to frown at her. For a moment, that's all he does, but then he just huffs out a sigh and murmurs, "Let's make a deal, Blair."

Vivian raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"What kind of deal?" she asks, sounding suspicious.

He pauses for a moment. It is a moment that seems to last for an age; eternity swept up in the iron of his eyes as they lock with hers. The magnetism of them renders her immobile.

"The kind where we agree to not have that talk quite yet, because I'm not really in the mood to be rejected," Regulus responds, coming to a slow halt in the middle of the corridor. The lights from the sconces that flicker down the dungeon hallway shift onto his face, alighting his countenance with something dark and mysterious. And yet – so much more transparent than his expression has ever been.

Vivian stares at him, not knowing what to say.

"…Regulus – "

"You know I like you, Vivian," he murmurs, cutting her off with a quiet sort of adamance. His voice shakes with it, taking her off guard yet again. She's even more surprised when he says, "I know you don't feel the same. I get it."

He drops her Quidditch bag on the ground, hand fisting the strap for a moment before that, too, falls away. The gentle thud of it hitting the floor sounds loud in the silent corridor, but not quite as loud as his heart. He hears it against his chest, beating like the tail of a hurricane over the open sea as it rallies the waves to the sound of its stormy song.

Regulus studies her for one more eternal moment before turning. He is intent on walking away, it seems, and if Vivian Blair was smarter or more astute, perhaps she would let him – but she's not. She never claimed she was. There is a part of her, however small, that feels compelled to be near to him. It is difficult to describe, but she feels it like one might feel the desperate need to cling to warmth on a cold winter's night, which is rather amusing really, because she wouldn't necessarily compare Regulus Black to a roaring fire.

No. He is an ice storm, when the sleet and hail plunge down from the skies and wreak havoc upon the world below; when the grey clouds press together with claustrophobic intent and shroud the midday sun from view; when the chill of the darkness rears its head and triumphs over everything it touches. He is not warm like the sun's rays on a summer day. His laughter, when it comes – if it comes at all – is not like an open hearth. He is not…well, he's not like his brother.

Still, even so, with all of this in mind, there is a piece of her soul that fastens itself to his, and not even the discomfort that his admission brings is enough to make her falter, not completely.

"You're just going to walk away, after all of that?" she blurts out, still standing like a statue beside her abandoned Quidditch bag. She eyes him carefully, watching the way his shoulders tense. His expression is hidden from her, but she suspects that it is set in the very same neutral mask that it almost always is. Perhaps Sirius was right – perhaps she doesn't know Regulus as well as she likes to believe – but she does know one thing: the neutrality is indeed a mask, because she's seen him without it. She's caught a glimpse of what lingers beneath the sleet and hail.

She sees a shred of it now, too, when he turns back to her and his eyes lock with wildfire brown. The calm stillness slips just so, until all at once it is gone, and Regulus is suddenly moving forward. A frightening look of resolve takes place where the impartiality had once reigned.

She takes a step backwards out of instinct, feeling rankled even as he follows her. The cold stone of the dungeon corridor meets her back. She watches with some trepidation as Regulus leans over her, practically caging her where she stands. His arms are barriers, but as Vivian looks up into his eyes, she isn't sure whether he is keeping her from leaving or keeping out the world.

"When you fall for me, Vivian, it's going to be because you _want_ to fall," he tells her lowly. His eyes caress her face, shifting over her with an infuriating tenderness that, despite her best efforts, makes her more breathless than she cares to admit. She supposes that she ought to feel annoyed at his emboldened words and the surety behind them, but she can't bring herself to feel anything but a trembling sort of weakness that enfolds itself over her entire body. She leans against the wall because she _needs_ to, now, otherwise she is quite sure that she would sink to the floor.

"You're very sure of yourself," she whispers. She doesn't know how she manages even that.

Regulus – observant, perceptive Regulus – seems to know exactly what's happening to her. He follows the movement of her throat as she swallows; the parted mouth, the burning eyes, and breathes, "There's a part of you that wants me. It just hasn't managed to convince the rest of you yet."

She raises an eyebrow at him and – somehow – scoffs, "And you think it will?"

He pauses, catches her eye, and lifts the corner of his mouth into that barely-there smile. "I _hope_ it will," he quietly amends, before pushing off of the wall. He takes one last look at her (memorizing the breathless quality of her form and the derisive mask that vainly tries to hide those burning eyes) and turns to leave.

This time, she lets him.


	37. Et passim

**Chapter Thirty Seven | Et passim **

**[And everywhere; scattered thought]**

Saturdays are usually everyone's favorite day of the week, especially for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Homework can be put aside, duties placed on the backburner, and – most importantly – trips into Hogsmeade can be had. For the older students who have been granted the privilege of heading into the small village whenever they like on the weekends, Saturdays usually herald much excitement. The castle empties itself of students and professors alike. The halls are blissfully quiet by the time mid-afternoon comes around, and Vivian intends on enjoying the peace to the best of her ability. Lately, it seems that said peace has been eluding her entirely, so when she steps into the Slytherin common room on her way to the library, it is with the express desire to throw herself right into the silence that this Saturday afternoon brings.

Unfortunately, she is not the only one with plans.

"There you are," Avery drawls when he catches sight of her shutting the door that leads down to the girl's dormitories. He is sprawled out on the large couch in front of the fire, turned towards the door that Vivian had only just exited, as if he is keeping an eye out for her. He isn't alone. Lucius Malfoy is with him, draped over the chair that sits across from the couch with his legs and arms crossed. He looks imperious as his eyes dart over to her. Cold ice lays dormant within them, startlingly blue in the darkened corner of the dungeon room.

Pausing, Vivian raises an eyebrow at the pair. She's got one of her father's books tucked beneath her arm, thus far unread. By the time today is over, she's hoping to change that, but suddenly she suspects that such a goal may be too lofty to accomplish.

"…Here I am," she says, trailing off a bit as she sends a quizzical glance at them. There's hardly anyone else in the common room. Their housemates are clearly making use of their freedom.

Lucius stands up with his usual grace and drawls, "You're not dressed for the weather. Go and get your coat. Hurry up."

Vivian just stares at him with a dry expression. He looks annoyed when she ignores his order to instead ask, "What do you two want with me? I wasn't aware we had plans today."

Avery rolls his eyes at her. When he isn't barking orders at them or being a general piece of shit on the Quidditch pitch, he isn't _that_ bad. Something in his countenance today, however, is drawn and taut. It is difficult to describe in any realistic way, because physically, he looks just the same as always. There is just some sort of shift in his aura; something that is altered just so from his usual nonchalance. It leaks into his eyes and into his voice when he grumbles, "Something came up. You were…requested."

Vivian doesn't bodily recoil, but she does jerk a bit upon hearing this. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what sort of people have 'requested' her, whatever that even means. It all makes sense, now. Avery's tense demeanor, Lucius's cold eyes…

"I was _requested?"_ Vivian repeats sarcastically, trying to lessen the coiled sensation that is even now curling through her veins. The peace that she had felt only moments before drops away. She clutches her books with grasping fingers. It is the only indication of her wariness.

Lucius scoffs and mutters, "Personally, I don't think you have it in you, Blair, but I'm not the one who makes the orders. Now go get your coat. They're waiting."

Vivian considers arguing, but she knows on some intrinsic level that it wouldn't do her any good. Avery and Lucius look like they're about ready to drag her out of the castle regardless of her response, and she knows better than to cross whoever it is that has requested to speak to her. The waves of self-preservation thunder through her, but this time, she isn't sure what direction they are pulling her in. And so, in her directionless confusion, she wavers, and obeys.

Isn't this the life that is set for her? She doesn't think that Fate has any other plans. Her sight is too shuttered to see the forest for the trees. They crowd around her on all sides, whispering things that make her want to run to the edge of it. But she can't. She doesn't know how to. She's lost in the center of an unending wood and there is no path to show her the way out of it. She can only keep moving forward, in whatever direction, because at least it's better than standing still and doing nothing.

Even as she turns on her heel to retrieve her coat, though, it's like her body rebels against the simple action of pulling it over her shoulders. She drops her book onto her bed to instead pull the buttons through the wool. She stares at the cover of the book as she drapes her emerald and silver scarf around her neck. And then, in a moment of weakness, she reaches over to flip the cover open. A small scrap of parchment is folded within, and it is with shaking fingers that she reaches for it. But she doesn't unfold it, or reread the verses of it, or look for clues that might tell her who her mystery writer is. Now is not the time for sentimental actions or emotional pursuits.

She stares at the parchment, draws her finger over the edge of the folded square, and then clenches her jaw and snaps the book shut over it. No, now is not the time.

The verses still call out to her, though, as she heads back to the common room to rejoin Avery and Lucius. They whisper at her like Fate whispers its shuttered plans into her ear, elusive and incoherent.

'_I wish you'd turn and set your sight_

_To my lost path_

_Before I fall,_

_Into this ocean's stormy night,_

_Once and for all_

_Once and for all.'_

She wishes that, too.

* * *

"So where's Sophia? I figured you'd be hanging off of her all day," Prongs says as he kicks up some snow. The four Marauders are loitering outside of Honeydukes on this fine Saturday afternoon. Wormtail is trying to open some of the fudge he'd just purchase, and is having some difficulties with his thick woolen mittens, but his friends aren't concerned for him. They know he'll pull through this challenge as he always does, when confronted with such a monstrous injustice. No, it's Padfoot that they are concerned about.

Well, 'concerned' might be too strong a word, but still.

"I'm not sure I appreciate the assumption that _I'd_ be hanging off of _her_, and not the other way around," Padfoot proclaims, stuffing his unclad hands into his pockets whilst regretting leaving his gloves back in his dorm. He says nothing more on the topic of Sophia Keene, AKA the latest fling, and descends into the very same brooding silence that has been lingering over him for the last week.

Moony, who is adjusting his red and gold scarf as he shivers against January's chill, sighs, "He's supposed to meet her at The Three Broomsticks for lunch," and then offers up a sarcastic smile when Padfoot wheels around to gape at him.

"How did you know that?" he wonders, then shakes his head and says, "Never mind, I don't care. In any case, it isn't lunchtime yet and therefore I've decided to sacrifice my new love life to hang around with you sorry lot."

Prongs puffs out a breath and dryly says, "Wow, we're so grateful, Padfoot. I don't think I could stand not being near you for a whole hour."

Moony snorts, "It sounds like a nightmare, really."

Wormtail nods, and happily takes a bite out of the fudge, which he has successfully opened against all odds.

Padfoot lets out a barking laugh at their sarcasm and throws his arm around Moony's shoulder. "An hour without my presence? Can you imagine it? You'd be beside yourself, Moony."

Moony rolls his eyes, but the amused smile that captures his mouth remains in place, and he doesn't try to throw Padfoot's arm off.

"Well we've practically bought half of Honeydukes. What shop shall we terrorize next?" Prongs wonders.

Moony just shrugs, and Wormtail has his mouth full, so Padfoot takes it upon himself to respond, "We haven't gone to Zonko's yet. We're running low on dungbombs after we rigged Filch's office last week – oh, and we need to buy more fireworks. The Fizzing Whizbees we got last time were all duds. I think we should complain – " Padfoot trails off here, turning towards the street and narrowing his eyes. In a distracted voice, he says, "…If we play our cards right, we could get a couple for free…"

Now, Padfoot happens to love pranks, which is of course how he has built up the reputation that he has, and everybody knows that when he has his mind set on such things, it is very difficult to change the topic to something else. In essence, he thinks about pranks in the same way that Prongs thinks about a particular red-head. That is, in an unavailing manner that is interrupted by only a few things. For Padfoot, one of those things happens to be walking down the road at this very moment, shivering against the cold despite the Slytherin scarf tucked around her neck and the expensive woolen coat wrapped around her body.

Distractions come in many forms. It comes in the form of Vivian Blair's cheeks, red and raw from winter's touch. It comes in the form of her downturned eyes as she skirts around the icy path. It comes in the form of the two students by her side.

"What're you looking at, Pad – oh," Prongs mutters when he sees the group of Slytherins heading down main street.

And just like that, the carefree atmosphere falters, and Sirius's brooding expression returns at full force. His stare seems to beckon to Vivian, for only moments after he first notices her, she lifts her head and notices him, too. The intensity of his eyes seems to startle her, and she looks away quickly – but not quickly enough. There is something in her eyes that vaguely resembles fear, and Padfoot sees it clear as day.

"Where are they going?" he murmurs, watching them pass by. He sees Theodore Avery glance over and send him a glower, apparently not appreciating their stares.

Moony frowns. "…No idea."

Prongs crosses his arms contemplatively and studies the back of Vivian's head as they walk down the street. In a musing voice, he says, "Blair doesn't usually hang around with Avery and Malfoy."

It's more of an offhanded comment than anything else. He doesn't intend for it to have any sort of consequences, or to spark action amongst them. It is merely a thoughtful remark that leaves his mouth in an introspective sort of manner, but it _does_ have consequences. Maybe it wouldn't if his friends weren't so impulsive, but – well, their impetuousness had gotten them into Gryffindor to begin with, after all, and Padfoot is more impulsive than the rest of them put together.

"Do you have your cloak, Prongs?" he wonders, still staring at Vivian even though she has already passed them. There's a determined blaze to his eyes that would be impossible not to pick up on. Even Wormtail sees it, and has the foresight to tuck his packet of fudge away in case his friend drags them into one of his spontaneous schemes.

Prongs hesitates for half a second before sighing, "When do I _not_ have my cloak?"

Moony dryly mutters, "You carry that thing around with you like it's your child."

Prongs just shrugs, unzipping his winter coat so as to pull the cloak out of one of its inner pockets, and replies, "Well seeing as I'm the leader of this ragtag band of Marauders, I must be prepared. You never know when a good prank will present itself."

At this, Padfoot pauses and looks away from Vivian to instead turn on his friend. This time, distraction comes in the form of an indignant, "When did we agree that _you_ were the leader? Did we ever vote on that, Moony? Wormtail, _you_ think I'm a better leader, right?"

Wormtail shrugs, "Sure, Padfoot, you're a great leader," in a voice too offhanded to be genuine. Padfoot huffs at him.

Prongs shakes his head. "You're not leader material, Padfoot, sorry," he says, though he doesn't sound very sorry at all when he pushes his glasses up and adds, "See, leaders don't randomly decide to follow a group of Slytherins who are clearly up to no good, on a _whim,_ without a _proper plan."_

Padfoot doesn't seem to appreciate Prongs clucking at him like a judgmental mother hen and just reaches over to grab the Invisibility Cloak from his hands with a roll of his eyes.

"Please. You'd do the same thing if it was Lily," Padfoot mutters, distracted again as he turns back around to locate Vivian in the crowd. As such, he doesn't seem to realize what he has just inferred: that Vivian is to him what Lily is to Prongs. He's too busy scanning the crowd in search of long brunette hair to see the way his friends are looking at him.

"I'll meet you lot at Zonko's," Padfoot quickly says as he catches sight of the Slytherin scarf and the two towering sidekicks. With the cloak in his hand, he turns towards the nearest alleyway so that he isn't seen throwing on the cloak, and hurriedly calls, "Make sure you buy those dungbombs!" before darting off.

Prongs zips up his jacket with a huff. Moony shakes his head. Wormtail fishes out the fudge in petulant silence.

Honestly, it's always about Vivian Blair, even when it isn't.

* * *

Unlike most of the students at Hogwarts, Vivian can honestly say that she's never once had the urge to go inside the Shrieking Shack. It has nothing to do with the rumors of it being haunted, but rather a general displeasure at the mere thought of venturing into the dilapidated building, which always looks like it's seconds from falling down. She always rolls her eyes at the younger students who dare each other to touch the crumbling siding of it, and feels a morbid hilarity in watching them freak out at the slightest breeze that rattles the broken shutters and makes the framework creak. As she stands outside of it now, though, there is no such amusement coloring her mind.

The shack is removed from the rest of Hogsmeade, tucked just within the confines of a small wooded area that is technically the start of the Forbidden Forest, whose trees grow larger and closer beyond the village's reach. It is a bit of a walk from the shack to the town center, which apparently makes it an ideal place for a group of potential Death Eaters to meet.

"There's a door round the back," Avery grunts at her as she pauses to look up at the crumbling structure. He pushes past her to make his way around the side of the shack, waiting for her to follow. Ahead of them, Lucius is already disappearing around the corner, looking eager to step inside. Vivian can't say that she shares the feeling.

There's a moment, as she stands there without the two of them on either side of her, in which she seriously considers turning around and returning to Hogsmeade. It is only a passing thought, though. Defying one's destiny isn't so easily done, and while Vivian Blair is many things, she isn't stupid. She knows that there would be consequences to such an action. Consequences that she isn't yet ready to face. But, regardless, she does allow herself a second to look back. The world behind her is clear and white. The afternoon sun glistens on freshly fallen snow. The crystalized effect that it has is nearly blinding in its purity. When she turns back to the Shrieking Shack, the contrasting darkness is almost poetic.

Inside, the darkness takes another form. Several forms, actually.

"Vivian?" a voice murmurs when she steps into what appears to be a small kitchen. The voice immediately makes her freeze. She whirls around to face it, and though she already knows exactly who belongs to it, the person who is standing in the doorway of the tiny space makes the words falter in her throat.

"…Regulus," she somehow manages to say. Her eyes lock onto his, but wildfire doesn't stand a chance in melting iron, and she looks away quickly. "You shouldn't be here," she mutters, and makes no mention how _she_ shouldn't be here, either. But Regulus does.

"Neither should you," he breathes, and moves to step towards her. He doesn't reach her side, though, because he is ultimately pushed out of the way before he can take more than one shaky step. Another body crowds into the small threshold that leads deeper into the rickety shack, and Vivian's mind takes a dizzying turn. Regulus's untimely presence and the memories of their last encounter fade away as Bellatrix Lestrange steps forward.

Her mouth curls upward into a pleased smile, but like all expressions that are cast upon the angular planes of her face, it looks harrowing and dour. Her dark eyes flash into Vivian's. She reaches out to clasp a hand over Regulus's shoulder, and whispers in her deceptively soft voice, "You are both _exactly_ where you are meant to be. Come, we have much to discuss."

With that, Bellatrix shepherds her younger cousin into the next room. Regulus barely has time to glance over his shoulder at Vivian before he disappears into the dimly lit space awaiting him. Vivian doesn't follow until Bellatrix shoots her an expectant look, and then she somehow manages to unglue her feet from the floor and dart after him.

She immediately wishes she hadn't.

"Ah, the girl has arrived," a growl sounds from one of the darkened corners. In the abruptness of the moment, Vivian's eyes promptly clash with a pair that she recognizes. They are the first thing she sees as she steps into the room. It's a hungry gaze, possessive almost, and full of an inhuman pitch that resonates through her as if it is a drawn-out note in a never-ending symphony.

Fenrir Greyback. She had seen him prowling around her manor over the Christmas holidays, following the more important Death Eaters around like a kicked puppy. His leering grins had made her shudder. He would look at her as if she was his next meal, with a ravenous sort of eagerness that would make her heart beat wildly in her chest. The sight of it now prompts a similar reaction from her. Blood rushes through her ears and the harried beat of her heart fills her hearing – and, judging from the way Greyback's mouth tilts up with dark amusement, she instinctively knows that he hears the desperate beat of it, too.

This is not a kicked puppy now; this is a werewolf who could rip her to shreds where she stands, and if she isn't careful, perhaps Bellatrix would let him.

It's clear that Bellatrix has taken on the leadership position in this impromptu gathering. When she enters the room and stands beside Vivian, the other occupants of it immediately look to her and wait. Vivian takes advantage of the moment to look around as well, keeping her eyes as far away from Fenrir Greyback as she can.

They look to be in a small and very dismal living room. There are only a few scant pieces of furniture. One dust-laden couch has been shoved haphazardly against the far wall, and a little side table that has seen better days is lying on its side near the only window in the room. There is dirt and grime on every surface and cobwebs in every corner. Looking at it now, Vivian understands why everyone thinks it's haunted, but there are no ghosts breathing into the spaces between its current occupants. No, the Shrieking Shack has a different set of demons haunting its rooms.

Said demons are people that she knows well enough to recognize on sight. Besides Bellatrix and Greyback, she sees Rabastan Lestrange leaning against the far wall. His brother is notably absent. Perhaps he is too high and mighty to deal with a group of school kids. Regulus, Lucius, and Avery are gathered around the room, as well as Mulciber and Rosier. Severus Snape is lurking beside them, and doesn't seem very impressed that she is there. When Adrian sees her, though, he straightens out his shoulders and sends her a prideful smile, as if he's pleased that she has come.

"Now that we've all arrived, we can begin," Bellatrix murmurs, and sets her hand down upon Vivian's shoulder. The action makes her stiffen slightly. She battles back the urge to move away, and is thankful that Bellatrix doesn't seem to notice.

"Begin what, exactly? You still haven't told us why you wanted the girl," Greyback grumbles from the darkened corner in which he's inhabiting. His voice is low and gravelly, pitched into something that resembles a growl. He eyes Vivian, looking disparaging and, at the same time, slightly fascinated.

Bellatrix curls her lip at him and haughtily responds, _"I'm_ not the one who wants her. The Dark Lord specifically requested for her presence here."

Apparently, this is news to everyone but Rabastan, who merely blinks at Vivian in an idle sort of manner as he tilts his head against the wall he's leaning against. Memories of Diagon Alley briefly parade through her mind, heightened into existence from the shimmer of his gaze as he leisurely takes her in.

For a moment, all Vivian can think about is the scent of firewhiskey and the pandemonium of that night – until Greyback lets out a growling chuckle and sneers, "Why would he want _her?_ I can practically _taste_ the fear on her. She's all but drowning in it."

At this, Vivian shoots Greyback a cold look, trying to recall the exact expression her father cultivates whenever he feels that he has been unjustly offended. Haughty, arrogant, and full of condescending – the likes of which is usually enough to make most people pause and reconsider their actions. Unfortunately, though, Vivian Blair has not yet perfected such an expression, and her efforts only seem to amuse Greyback. When he scoffs humorously and raises an eyebrow at her, she feels as though she is playing a game meant for older, wiser adults, and that she is merely a child trying to fill the shoes of her father.

In hopes of rectifying this, she scathingly responds, _"Your_ opinion hardly matters, half-breed," in a voice that better reflects her father's ideals of superiority. It must work, because Greyback's amusement immediately fades into perturbance upon the insult, and Bellatrix lets out a simpering laugh at Greyback's expense.

"Quite so, love, quite so," Bellatrix croons at Vivian, her mouth twisted into a dark smirk.

Greyback growls from his corner, but says nothing, and merely eyes Vivian with a certain bitter vengeance that is no doubt due to being heralded by the very same slur in which he has become very familiar with since becoming a werewolf. Purebloods especially love to throw it around whenever they feel the need to put people like him in his place. He is quite used to the way these things work by now. He's been running in this particular circle for some time, after all, and though the Dark Lord's faithful have expressed their interest in recruiting all manner of dark creatures into their cause, they've made it clear that his people are, indeed, lesser beings, and that they are above him in every way.

"We don't have much time," Bellatrix says. "The Dark Lord has heard about your talents with charmwork, Vivian. He has given you a task, and if you are able to complete it, he has agreed to officially recruit you into our ranks. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that this is an honor of the highest caliber."

An acrid taste fills Vivian's mouth. Her blood, which has been pumping through her veins too quickly, before, now seems to drain away at once. It isn't a dramatic sort of feeling, where the room spins and the she feels like she is seconds away from reeling. No, it is subtler than that. The quiet dread that fills her does so slowly, but potently.

"…Charmwork?" she asks. Her voice doesn't wobble, thank Merlin. She sounds stronger than she feels.

Bellatrix flashes her a smug smile. "You father likes to brag about you. Didn't you know?" The smile turns into a smirk and she adds, "It is the hope of our Lord to recruit as many loyal followers as he can while time still remains, but in order to join Him, you have to prove yourself."

As she speaks, Bellatrix's voice slowly descends into a whisper. She reaches up to twist a strand of Vivian's hair behind her ear and murmurs, "Your performance in Diagon Alley left much to be desired, love. I hope you take advantage of your second chance."

Second chance. Vivian swallows tightly and can't help but glance over at Regulus, who is staring at her with a tense jaw. The tension in his face is the only indication of his reaction to the turn this conversation has taken. The rest of his face is unreadable; a blank canvas waiting to be painted over. She doesn't look at him for more than a moment before her eyes clash with another's.

Adrian is smirking at her, but it isn't the sort of smug look that usually graces his expression. No, now the smirk looks proud, as if he's satisfied with the turn of events and couldn't be happier with them. This, more than anything else – more than Fenrir Greyback's glowering stance, more than Bellatrix's crooning eyes – is what makes Vivian's resolve come into focus.

"Greyback is right," she forces out, though it pains her to say the words in front of the werewolf, whose amused expression returns to his face upon hearing them. "I wouldn't make a good recruit. I'm not a fighter."

Oh, those words will be proven wrong one day, but in this particular moment, Vivian Blair believes them. Of course, she doesn't fully know if they are true or not, because she has never actually fought before, for anything that has ever mattered.

Greyback smirks wolfishly at her and murmurs, "Backing out already? Your father won't be very pleased, the way he goes on about you. I guess you won't be continuing the family legacy after all."

Vivian glares at him, but she thankfully doesn't have time to snap out a response before Rabastan drawls, "Don't you want to hear what your task is, Blair? If you ask me, the Dark Lord has made it easy for you."

Bellatrix snorts in what sounds like agreement, and murmurs, "Refusing would be unwise, love. I know you're smarter than that."

She opens her mouth to say more, but before she can, Regulus stiffly inputs, "I'm to be given a task as well. What does the Dark Lord want me to do?"

Vivian shoots him a look, but Regulus is staring at his cousin, and doesn't grace her with another glance. He squares his shoulders and awaits his judgement, only for Bellatrix to shake her head at him and say, "Patience, Regulus. Your time has not yet come. Today we are here for Vivian. Adrian?"

Adrian looks up at the sound of his name. It must be some sort of prompt, for he seems to be expecting it. He steps forward to hand Vivian a book she had not noticed before that moment. As it passes from his hands to Vivian's, he tells her, "Your father sent this."

The explanation is too brief for Vivian to make sense of. Confused, she looks down at the title. It certainly _looks_ to be of her father's collection, but she doesn't know why he would feel the need to send it to her.

'_Raising the Dead,' _is etched into the leather-bound cover in gold ink. There is no other indication of what the book is about or why it pertains to her, but it doesn't take very long for it to fall into place.

"Inferi," Rabastan says, studying Vivian's expression closely. She lifts her head to stare at him, and he gives her an almost lazy look in return. He shrugs, "The Dark Lord has recently become interested in them, but he seems to think that the Inferi he has created thus far don't…live up to his expectations, shall we say?" He smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of Vivian's confusion.

She raises an eyebrow and presses down the dread that keeps trying to lift into her veins. "I don't understand."

Rabastan, naturally, doesn't look very surprised by this. He glances over at Bellatrix, who rolls her eyes and impatiently says, "Your task is to create a spell that will make them more powerful. Give them more autonomy."

Vivian turns to Bellatrix and, still confused, murmurs, "But the whole point of creating Inferi is so that they obey your orders. Why would he want them to act on their own?"

Bellatrix's impatience seems to be growing, because it colors her voice when she responds, "He doesn't want them to act on their own free will. He wants them to be more powerful, so that they can fulfill his orders more efficiently. Do you have any _other_ questions, while we're here catering to you?"

Vivian snaps her mouth shut and tries to clear her face of the annoyance she feels at Bellatrix's attitude. She spends a moment wrangling it down, knowing that it won't help her win Bellatrix's favor, before saying, "So this task is merely to create a spell that will make his Inferi more competent?" Her voice is, admittedly, a bit sarcastic. It's rather difficult to wrangle _that_ down.

Bellatrix narrows her eyes at her and scorns, "If it was an easy thing to do, don't you think he would have already done it by now?"

Vivian can't help but return, "If it's so important to him, why is he putting _me_ in charge of it?"

It's Rabastan who answers her this time, and his response is a shrugging, "What could he possibly lose by doing so?"

At this, Vivian frowns at him, but she can't exactly argue with his point. After all, what _would_ the Dark Lord have to lose? She is nothing to him; a simple teenager just barely on the cusp of adulthood. If she succeeds, then he wins. If she fails…

Well, Vivian doesn't really want to think about what might happen should she fail. She has never actually seen the Dark Lord before, but the stories she's heard of him make the dread in her veins drift up to the surface of her skin, and she forcefully holds a shiver back lest it overtake her.

"Do you accept?" Bellatrix murmurs, stepping closer to her. Her presence by Vivian's side is a vice that twists around her and threatens to pull her down beneath the layers of her own uncertainty.

Bellatrix leans in, ever closer, to whisper, "Do you agree to obey the Dark Lord's orders?"

And suddenly, all Vivian can think of isn't what Voldemort has to lose by giving said orders to her, but rather what _she_ has to lose. If she succeeds, then she is practically signing her soul away. She can't just refuse to become a Death Eater should the invitation be extended to her. She can't simply tell one of the fiercest Dark wizards in history that she doesn't want to follow him. But if she fails, what then? What would the repercussions be for her own incompetence? What punishment would he give her, for failing to enact his wishes? And, beyond these two potential ends, she cannot simply refuse to carry out those wishes, because that would be synonymous with refusing the Dark Lord entirely.

"Well?" Bellatrix demands, raising an eyebrow at her. Vivian's continued silence doesn't seem to impress her very much, which is precisely the core of their differences. Bellatrix would go to hell and back if it would make her master happy, but Vivian…

Self-preservation. Right.

"I accept," she forces herself to say, and then promptly clears her throat, because her voice breaks just a little bit when she does. That little sound of weakness makes Greyback smirk widely, and Rabastan raise his eyebrows dubiously at her, and Bellatrix scoff beneath her breath as she pulls away.

They see right through her, she realizes. Apparently, she has much to learn in the way of keeping her emotions to herself.

Bellatrix, in a perfectly drawling tone, murmurs, "Then you know what you must do. Adrian will escort you back to the castle, I'm sure. We have other matters to discuss while there is still time."

And, as Adrian steps forward to take Vivian's arm and guide her back through the dismal kitchen and out of the door, Vivian's eyes flash into an iron gaze, which is carefully shuttered and blank as it stares back into hers. She only has time to see Bellatrix beckon Regulus to her side before the door of the Shrieking Shack closes upon the scene, but the slight undercurrent of eagerness within his eyes is impossible to miss. He _wants_ to be there. He _wants_ to join Him. It doesn't matter what he had said to her in the Malfoy's gardens, about not having a choice at this point. It doesn't matter because he doesn't truly _want_ a choice.

Her head is spinning, so she doesn't even notice that Mulciber has pulled her to a stop a short ways off from the shack. She doesn't notice anything at all until he breaks the silence with a pleased, "I'm proud of you, Vivian. You're making the right choice. I'm sure you'll be able to complete this task in no time at all. Your father says you're quite talented."

The words draw Vivian back to the present. Finally, she notices that Mulciber is leaning over her with that proud look blazing over his face, and that he's just given her the first compliment that, to her knowledge, has ever left his mouth.

_Quite talented._

_You'll complete this task in no time._

She jerks away from him with a tight expression and says, "Yes. Well. I should go read this." Her hold on the book that her father had sent is desperate and clawing. She uses it as a crutch; a means of escape.

Adrian, for once, doesn't seem bothered by it. He just shrugs and says, "Best get a head start. I'm sure I'll see you in the common room later. We can speak more about this then."

She doesn't respond.

"We should also talk about the ceremony, too," he adds, in an almost offhanded manner, as if the thought had come rather suddenly to him, in an equally offhanded way.

Vivian feels the dread rise to the surface once more. In a choked voice, she repeats, "…Ceremony?"

Her mind immediately fills with images of her receiving the very same Mark that she knows lingers just beneath Adrian's shirt sleeve. Does such a thing require a ceremony? Does the Dark Lord make such an ordeal about welcoming new followers into his circle?

But – Adrian just raises an eyebrow at her pale face and, sounding confused, says, "Yeah, the wedding. We only have a few months to plan it. Honestly, Blair, get your head on straight. I'll see you later." And with that, he turns on his heel and strides back to the Shrieking Shack, leaving Vivian feeling even worse.

The wedding ceremony. _Her_ wedding ceremony.

Merlin, she can't even consider it right now. It's just too much. She feels as if her mind is going in every direction at once, unsettled and hazardous, swept up into a storm with no hint of blue skies for miles.

Vivian tucks her father's book beneath her arm and inhales deeply. It is a shaky sound, tremulous and faltering.

She turns back down the trail that will take her into Hogsmeade, feeling as if her world has shrunk down into a cage, and doesn't notice that she is not as alone as she thinks. She is so swept up in her own thoughts that she doesn't notice anything at all –

Not the shimmer of the air in her peripheral vision, nor the footprints in the snow nearby. The presence of someone whose soul will, one day, be as familiar to her as her own is entirely overlooked.

For now, Vivian Blair sees only what she what is immediately ahead of her, and nothing else.

* * *

Sirius usually knows better than to stand a girl up when they have plans. Contrary to his reputation, he does in fact have some amount of curtesy in that particular realm. Call it a byproduct of his strict upbringing, or perhaps just the experience of seeing a woman scorned enough times to know better. In any case, he wouldn't claim to be the most respectful person on the planet where it concerns the opposite sex, but he has been imparted with enough common sense to realize that abandoning a meeting with his date, without properly informing said date, is a bad idea. The thing is, though, that he isn't really thinking about Sophia Keene or the fact that she's probably wondering where he is. His mind is on other matters, and the girl that he's been seeing on and off for a few short days isn't on the top of his priority list.

The brooding feeling that he has been battling with for the last week returns at full force as he makes his way back to the castle. The Invisibility Cloak is still swept over his shoulders. He almost forgets that he's wearing it at all as he ducks through the courtyard and into the familiar corridors of Hogwarts. Vivian has long since disappeared by the time he reaches the large doors that lead into the Great Hall, but he isn't looking for her at this point. He isn't looking for anyone.

He needs to think, and he needs to do it on his own time, without his friends or anyone else distracting him. He needs time to consider what he has just learned.

In truth, he hadn't been able to get close enough to the shack to hear the conversation being had within it. If he had known in advance that the Slytherins would be occupying the run-down building, he might have been able to plan out his act of espionage better. He knows the Shrieking Shack like the back of his hand, as well as the secret tunnel that leads to it, and could have easily eavesdropped on whatever was being discussed had he possessed the foresight to do so. But, given the circumstances, the only real information he has received from said espionage had been what Mulciber had said to Vivian after it was all over and done with.

A task.

And marriage.

With a deep frown, Sirius makes his way up to the astronomy tower. His body pulls him there almost without thought. Before he even knows where he's going, he's stepping out onto the large dais that overlooks the school grounds, and moves to one of the windy parapets to look down at the expanse of the Black Lake. The cloak ripples over him with the cold breeze, so he tugs it off and stuffs it into his jacket for safekeeping, revealing himself to a world that doesn't take notice of him, for there is no one around to give his presence here much thought.

His mind drifts back to Christmas Eve. There are many questions that had come up that night, and many of them are yet unanswered. Now, it seems that there are even more, and there is only one way to solve that conundrum.

The real question is how Vivian Blair will react to the solution that he has in mind.


	38. Primum cognitum

**Chapter Thirty Eight | Primum cognitum **

**[The first thing known]**

"So you do realize that Sophia is pretty pissed off, right?" Marlene McKinnon drawls as she throws herself onto the couch in the Gryffindor common room beside Sirius's sprawled figure. The fire crackles merrily in the hearth, warming the occupants of the room as it quietly blazes away. One of those occupants happens to still be in his brooding mood, because Sirius doesn't even turn to glance at Marlene as she makes herself comfortable next to him. She pulls out one of her trashy romance novels and flips to the page where she'd left off as she leans into the cushions.

Sirius scoffs and mutters, "I'm sure she'll get over it."

Across the way, Remus raises his eyebrows a notch as he arranges the chess pieces across the board that James had pulled out, but he refrains from saying anything. As for James, who is sitting across from Remus at the short coffee table, well…

"You can't just ditch a girl and expect her to be okay with it, Sirius," he says, only half paying attention to his brooding friend. Peter, who is only too happy to not be playing wizard's chess, nods in agreement, apparently feeling more inclined to take James's side this time. His loyalty is constantly changing between James and Sirius, so this isn't necessarily surprising.

Sirius doesn't seem like he cares overmuch and just shrugs, not looking away from the fire, which he's broodingly staring into. Unfortunately, though, his silent attempt at deflection doesn't do him much good.

"Sophia isn't the type to let you get away with this. She's too stubborn for that," Marlene adds breezily, not looking as if she's expecting a response from her brooding ex-boyfriend, or whatever Sirius is to her (honestly, neither of them are quite sure). She doesn't look very concerned that Sirius's attention is elsewhere, which is probably because she _isn't_ very concerned. Marlene and Sirius have always had an understanding and they don't typically let their lives intersect too emotionally.

"I don't really care, Marl," Sirius mutters, and tilts his head back. He closes his eyes, appearing for all the world as though he is eternally indifferent to everything occurring around him, and falls silent again.

Marlene turns to study his profile and raises a pointed eyebrow at him. He really _doesn't_ look like he cares all that much, which is altogether very characteristic of him. Marlene knows Sirius fairly well, though, and she has a funny feeling that there's more going on in his head than he is outwardly showing.

"No?" she wonders, eyebrows raising further when she sees the person who is now entering the common room. "Well you might want to have a good excuse ready, because someone else _does_ care."

At this, Sirius opens his eyes and tips his head to the side to send Marlene a confused look. His confusion promptly vanishes when he hears the telltale sound of an angry female storming towards him. Admittedly, it's a sound that he happens to know very well, and is therefore well-equipped to handle the consequences of it.

"Black! I waited for you in The Three Broomsticks for _an hour_ and you _never showed,"_ Sophia's voice screeches from behind him. The usual dulcet tones of it are now skewed in her anger, and vaguely remind him of nails on a chalkboard.

He cringes, then expertly dodges to the right – just in time to avoid Sophia's fist as it slams down where his head at just been.

"Sorry, Keene. Let's reschedule, yeah?" Sirius drawls, unfazed by the attack. He's probably the only person in the room who is acting as if this is a normal occurrence. Well – the other Marauders hardly bother glancing up, and Marlene just idly flips the page of her book but – the rest of the common room turns to stare at the confrontation with wide eyes.

Sophia glares at him and seethes, "You can't reschedule _after_ you ditched me, that's not how it works! You know what, I don't know why everyone thinks you're so great, Black. You're not even a good kisser."

Sirius just shrugs. "So we're not rescheduling then?" he wonders, and dodges again to avoid Sophia's hand coming down on the back of the couch – an attempt at digging into his shoulder with her long nails, no doubt.

"No we are not rescheduling," she grinds out. "You've officially lost your chance with me. Don't bother groveling for another date because it's never going to happen."

Sirius hums and mutters, "I won't," in an altogether offhand voice, clearly not caring all that much and unafraid of making it known. As for Sophia, she's apparently had enough of Sirius because she lets out an annoyed sound that seems like it's a cross between a shriek and a huff and then storms off to the girl's dormitories, cursing his name with every step.

The moment she's gone, Sirius shrugs, "Dunno why you were so worried, Marl. That wasn't a big deal at all."

Marlene rolls her eyes and mutters, "That's only because you've had too much experience dealing with angry girls, Sirius – which you really shouldn't be proud of."

He's about to respond when James snorts and cuts in, "You need to learn how to be loyal to one bird at a time, mate. Take Lily and I as an example. She's been my girl for _years_ now – "

"I'm not your girl, Potter," Lily growls as she passes them, on her way to one of the chairs in the corner of the room, arms laden with books and parchment.

James sends her a mooning stare as she goes, until Remus sends his knight to destroy James's bishop. The resulting smash brings his attention back to the matter at hand and he sighs, "Right. Lily's been my _dream girl_ for years now. You don't see _me_ dating other people in some stupid attempt to make her jealous, do you?"

Sirius pauses, darts his eyes over to James's, and slowly responds, "…I'm not trying to make anyone jealous."

James raises his eyebrows at him. Peter purses his lips. Remus doesn't lift his eyes away from the chessboard as he drawls, "Where'd you end up going, anyway? You said you were going to meet us at Zonko's and you never did."

Sirius, pausing again, turns to look back at the fire and clears his throat. "Just ended up losing track of time is all." This time, his deflecting works marginally better, because his friends are now watching as James's queen cuts the head off of Remus's knight, and James's resulting 'whoop' of victory is distracting enough for Sirius's hesitant words to go unnoticed.

He doesn't really want to tell any of his friends what he had learned. He's not sure why, exactly – he tells them _everything_ – but it seems that topics relating to Vivian Blair go somewhat against the grain. There's just something about her that he doesn't want to gossip about; something delicate trapped between the lines of her person that he wants to keep to himself. Every layer that he uncovers is something to be protected and kept silent.

He doesn't know why, not quite yet, but he does know that he needs to do something about it. If nothing else, he needs to try to understand it all better, or else he feels as if he'll go out of his mind.

* * *

There is no one on the Quidditch pitch. It's mid-January, and the ground is covered by several inches of what used to be fluffy snow. Now the snow is heavy from the freezing rain that had pelted down from the skies the night before, and the paths around the grounds of Hogwarts are icy and unpleasant to traverse. It's a bit treacherous and, coupled with the biting wind, the majority of students have rightfully decided to stay indoors today…which is the precise reason why Vivian Blair has decided not to. It's peaceful out here if one knows how to properly protect oneself from the chill. A heating spell does wonders at keeping the cold at bay, and while it is a bit of work to keep it going, it's better than sitting around the common room.

Honestly, she never thought she'd resort to avoiding her own quarters just because she might run into Adrian Mulciber. It's pathetic.

Her father's latest book is resting on the bench beside her, bookmarked to where she had left off. She's only gotten to the fifth chapter. Creating Inferi and learning how to manipulate them to your will isn't exactly a pleasant topic to be perused over a cup of tea, and after the nightmare she had some nights before, she figured that it would be in her best interest to take a break from it entirely. Still, she brings it everywhere she goes – partly because she's hoping that she'll feel inclined to continue reading it and partly because she doesn't want to leave it around her dorm room, just in case one of her friends remarks upon it. She doesn't want to have to explain herself. She doesn't know how she would anyway.

_Oh, yeah, it's just a bit of light reading to prepare me for coming up with a theoretical enchantment that may or may not be useful to the Dark Lord. _

Vivian makes a disparaging scoff beneath her breath and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stares broodingly across the pitch. She's sitting in the Slytherin section, naturally, and directly across from her is the crimson and gold banners of Gryffindor, where the brave of heart supposedly resides. She has to battle down another scoff at the thought.

The crimson banners get caught on a hard breeze, and she stares at them as they beat against the wind. After a moment of staring, she turns her eyes to her hands, twisting them together almost idly, even though there is really nothing idle about her. Inside, she's not nearly as calm as she outwardly appears.

She doesn't know what had prompted her father to brag about her to begin with. Well – actually she _does_ know, because she can easily see him snidely edging into a conversation being had about one of his acquaintance's children, and making it all about him and how his own child is better. It's ironic because he's never once encouraged her imagination when it comes to that particular outlet. In fact, most of the time, he aligns himself with her mother's view of her experiments being 'an unfit hobby for a lady of your caliber to partake in'. Half of her creations are unfinished and untested, mainly flyaway thoughts jotted down on spare bits of parchment. Only a handful of them are even useful, and –

She pauses as a thought drifts through her mind, and glances down at the bookbag that she had dragged to the pitch with her. She had only just escaped her last class of the day before darting outside, and so many of her textbooks are with her – and odd bits of parchment, as well.

It is with an almost fervent intensity that Vivian grabs her bag and begins to riffle through it, shoving books and spare quills out of the way until at last she finds what she's looking for. It's wrinkled and smudged from having found itself at the bottom of her bag, torn in a few places with crinkled corners, but thankfully legible. When she looks down at the scribbles that had been jotted down months ago, she feels a shard of relief sweep through her.

Maybe it's a stretch – after all, experimental magic is unstable at best – but there is one spell that may be able to help her. At the very least, perhaps her unfinished idea will send her in the right direction. She scans the parchment, turns it over, searches until she finds –

_Viverati _

_Vivicendi_

_Viveramus_

Each attempt is crossed out, not because of an actual failure but rather because the basis of the spell hadn't been clear enough. Her goal hadn't been properly defined. In short, she hadn't known exactly what she was trying to accomplish, because she was just playing around with potential ideas.

She doesn't have that luxury now, though.

Several Latin suffixes are scrawled below the failed idea, initially written down as further additions to consider; ways to make the verbal aspect of the spell stronger and more focused.

_Cendi, dium, dius, dia _

She stares at them now, filing through her knowledge of Latin as she recalls her original purpose for coming up with this spell to begin with.

Vivere is life. It is the invigorating pull of adrenaline that rushes through you just when you think you've reached your limit. It is the second wind of power that cascades into your veins like a sweeping storm rolling into your peripheral vision; a gathering influx of strength that overwhelms all hint of weakness. The purpose of the spell had been just the same: to exploit the body's natural fight-or-flight reflexes and to enable it to push forward against all odds. There hadn't been any particular reason for creating such an enchantment. At the time, it had been one of those ideas, randomly conceived, that she had worked on for a while before growing bored with it.

But – if vivere is life, then perhaps it holds the answer.

Her mind races through the possibilities. There are so many of them – wand movements and suffixes and pronunciations – and she finds herself thinking that maybe this won't be so hard after all. Maybe she can figure this out without repercussion. If she does it quickly, then maybe the Dark Lord will be satisfied enough and won't require any further loyalty from her.

Blindly, Vivian leans down into her bag to find a quill…and when she glances up, she finds something entirely different.

Sirius Black raises an eyebrow at her from where he's standing, leaning against the railing of the Slytherin section only a few scant feet away. His expression is curiously inquisitive as he watches Vivian jerk back in surprise. When the action ends up making the scrap of parchment flutter off of her lap, he leans forward to catch it before it falls between the cracks of the benches, takes a short glance at it, and wonders, "What's this?" Then, upon a closer examination if it, he tilts his head and smirks, "Oh – that's the spell that made you spout compliments to everyone you came across, right? I'll be honest, Godric, I think that might've been the best day of my life."

Vivian is so surprised to see him there that when she snaps, "Give that back," it isn't nearly as aggressive as she means for it to be.

Sirius sends her a crooked grin. "If you want it so badly, come and get it, Blair."

She narrows her eyes at him. This time, when she snaps at him, it's a little _too_ aggressive. "Stop being a fucking child." She opens her hand demandingly and he puffs out his cheeks.

"What's got your knickers all twisted up, anyway?" he grumbles (to her annoyance), but hands over the parchment anyway. He isn't here to make her angry, after all. His goal requires the complete opposite, actually.

Vivian doesn't grace his question with a response. Instead, she just pulls her retrieved parchment back into her lap and returns to searching for a quill, thoroughly ignoring his existence in the way she knows annoys him more than anything. This time, though, he doesn't seem overly perturbed by her tactic, and is seemingly content to rest his chin against the back of his hands and do very little but stare at her. Broodingly.

There's no one in the world who can pull off the brooding stare better than Sirius Black, and after only a few moments of being on the receiving end of it, Vivian decides that it's already too much.

"What do you want?" she growls out, spearing him with a glare. It isn't quite as brooding as Sirius's, but the Slytherin in her ensures that it's enough to rival it, at least.

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Sirius releases a breath and ducks under the railing of the stands. Vivian's glare turns slightly conflicted as he clamors onto the seat beside her, kicking his legs out and looking for all the world as if the act of willingly sitting next to his self-proclaimed nemesis is as normal as the January snow that covers the ground. It isn't, of course, but something inside of her doesn't have it in her to call him out on it, and Vivian just waits in puckered silence for him to explain himself.

He doesn't immediately, but to be fair, she's not very surprised by his circular methods. When he casts a glance over at the book that's claiming the bench to Vivian's right, he just idly wonders, "More light reading, Godric? Doesn't look like one of your fake dictionaries."

Vivian stiffens and promptly leans forward to shove her father's book into her bag and away from his prying eyes, but Sirius is a touch faster. He reaches out to grab her wrist at the last moment, twisting it slightly so as to read the title of the book. Vivian, now quite annoyed, wrangles his hand off of her and snarls, "Why do _you_ care what I'm reading?"

Sirius, though, hardly seems to hear the snarling inquiry, and just watches as she deposits the book out of sight. There's something thoughtful in his expression that she doesn't like, so she decides that it would be best to remove herself from the situation entirely and goes to get up. The peace and quiet that she had been searching for is obviously impossible to obtain when Sirius Black is around.

When she stands, Sirius sighs, "Blair, wait." And when she ignores him, he stands up too and murmurs, "Vivian."

The sound of her first name isn't what makes her halt in her tracks. Rather, it's the _way_ he says it. Careful. Tentative. Vivian turns to face him, one hand on the railing and the other clenched around the strap of her bookbag, and looks at him. His expression perfectly reflects the careful tentativeness of his voice.

Sirius opens his mouth to speak, and thinks better of it, and closes it again. He repeats this process several times before Vivian grows impatient and scoffs beneath her breath. She pulls her bag over her shoulder and makes to exit the stands, but just as she's turning around, Sirius seems to have finally found his words.

"You said you didn't want to join them," he blurts out, much to her surprise. She's so surprised, in fact, that Vivian immediately stops again. Her back is turned to him so he can't see her face. Maybe that's why he steps forward and reaches out to lay his hand beside hers on the railing, shuffling close enough so that, when he next speaks, his voice is the only thing she can hear.

"On Christmas Eve, you said you didn't want any part of it," he murmurs. His eyes dart over her tense shoulders and the arch of her neck. All the delicate lines and graceful arches of her figure remind him of that night with startling clarity. He feels, suddenly, as if he is standing in the doorway of the Potters' kitchen once more, studying shaking shoulders and reddened skin and wondering at the strange and desperate way his stomach had sunk down so low; low like the pitch of an ocean a hundred miles from the sky.

A soft, feminine vanilla scent sends tendrils towards him and he clenches his fingers down tight around the railing, centimeters from her own.

Mussed hair and red-rimmed eyes - oh, he remembers it all – shaking hands, taut muscles. The attempt at sarcasm when she had made fun of his bedroom décor, but had ultimately failed because he could hear the tremor in her voice even then. He could see through the veil. He could see more of Vivian Blair in that moment than he ever had before, in all the years he had known her; in all the seconds that had forged themselves between them; for good or for bad, through insults and injuries, slipped inside of backhanded compliments shrouded in derision. Yes, that was her – the real her – the version of herself that he can see the faintest hint of now, as she turns her head to catch his eye.

Perhaps he's surprised her, because Vivian just stares at him for a very long moment, until…

"I think you've overestimated my selflessness," she tells him. There's a small tremor in her voice now, too, when she breathes, "I will always put myself first, every single time."

And with that, she finally breaks free of the strange magnetic pulse keeping them there, standing so close together in the Slytherin stands on this cold January afternoon. But Sirius doesn't intend on letting her go that easily. He follows her as she moves from the stands to the snow covered grass, and quickly falls into step beside her even as she attempts to walk faster than him.

"Is that what you think you're doing? You think agreeing to do Voldemort's bidding is going to save you? Are you really that naïve?" Sirius demands.

Vivian sends him a narrowed look and hisses, "Have you been following me, Black? Maybe your blood traitor friend is right and you really _are_ obsessed with me."

Rather than angering him, though, Sirius completely ignores this and instead comes right out to ask, "This task of yours. What is it?"

Vivian immediately stops and swings around to face him, looking more than just angry. She's shaking again, but this time it isn't in fear or pain.

"You _were_ following me," she spits. Wildfire spreads through her eyes. It reminds him of a brushfire in the dry heat of summer, burning through trees and deadened branches so quickly that intervention is impossible. You just have to wait it out, let the fire burn the forest to ashes and renew the earth in the wake of it. That's the thing about wildfires: their destruction brings growth, and he's just waiting to see that spark of life in her now. In fact, a part of him is desperate for it.

"When are you going to get it through your thick head to stay the fuck out of my business?" she snarls at him, burning and angry and alive. Sirius stares at her and waits.

"I don't want your advice. I don't need _anything_ from you. If you think I'm just going to spill my guts out to you after all the shit you've pulled on me over the years, you're more of an idiot than I thought – and another thing, Black, if I catch you following me again, I can promise you that my _dictionaries_ aren't only a cover-up. I know a few curses that will guarantee you a spot in one of Pomfrey's hospital beds, so stay the hell away from me," she bursts out, and then marches off before he can even think of a response.

And, for a blissful moment, Vivian truly thinks that he _will_ stay away from her – that her irate words have finally impacted him.

She's wrong, of course. She doesn't know it quite yet, but when it comes to her, Sirius isn't so easily derailed.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he tells her in a clipped tone, and falls back into place beside her before she's even taken more than a handful of steps. The apology sounds hasty, annoyed even, perhaps because he isn't accustomed to issuing such things, least not to her. He doesn't give her any time to consider the fact that he just has, though. In an equally hasty voice, he says, "Seeing you walking through Hogsmeade with Avery and Malfoy – it's just – the look on your face… It made me – Blair, stop walking so fast for Merlin's sake, I'm trying to say something."

Vivian huffs out an impatient growl and demands, _"What_ are you trying to say, Sirius? Spit it out already."

Sirius would have to be deaf not to take notice of the way she uses his name. For a moment, all he can do is gape at her as he turns it over in his head. Her voice fills the silence between his thoughts, echoing with a singular force, until he is able to clear his throat and remind himself of the matter at hand – and the way that Vivian looks like she's seconds from impatiently turning on her heel and leaving him behind again.

He doesn't know what comes over him, really. Maybe it's the lurching sensation of desperation rattling through him, or the need to get to the real reason he had come out here to find her, or maybe it's simply the frost-bitten cheeks and the lips flushed red from with cold and the wildfire eyes searing directly into his. Maybe it's all three of these things, turning together with such velocity that he has no time to pinpoint which is strongest, if any of them do indeed take precedence over the other – maybe he just hadn't realized until this moment that he doesn't want her to walk away from him.

Or maybe he has realized it, only he hadn't considered why.

"I like you," he says before he knows what he's saying. It almost sounds like a question that he's asking himself; the sort of thoughtful contemplation that one conducts when they are in a silenced room, and their thoughts form words without them being fully aware of it until they are already cast from their lips.

Vivian stares at him.

"You like me," she repeats, sounding slightly condescending about it.

Sirius blinks, then shakes his head, then says, "No. I mean – " he trails off, sighs impatiently, and then hurriedly says, "Look, Blair, I know we pretend to hate each other most of the time, but I don't hate you."

Vivian narrows her eyes at him. The slightest touch of confusion enters her eyes, so Sirius takes a step towards her and says again, just in case she doesn't believe him, "I don't hate you." And then, more cognizant now of what he's saying, he adds, "I want to help you. I can, if you let me."

Her eyes are still narrowed. She doesn't look like she trusts him very much, and he supposes that he can't entirely blame her for it. Still, he finds himself hoping that she will trust him, at least a little bit, which is probably why he feels so disappointed when she scoffs, _"You_ want to help _me?_ What sort of prank is this, Black? You're obviously planning something."

Sirius looks a bit annoyed at the suspicion directed at him and impatiently returns, "I'm not trying to _prank_ you, Vivian, I'm telling you that I know someone who's powerful enough to – do something to help you. Send you to a safe house or something. I don't know." She looks about ready to tell him off, so he quickly adds, "Think about it. You wouldn't have to do Voldemort's bidding. You wouldn't have to marry Mulciber. You'd be free of it all. Free of everything holding you down."

It doesn't take someone of great intellect to see what he's getting at. Or, more specifically, which powerful person he's referring to.

Vivian shakes her head at him and forcefully returns, "You think _Dumbledore_ would go out of his way to help _me?"_ Then, because she seems to have reached the end of her patience, Vivian turns on her heel once more and scoffs, "You're an idiot."

Sirius tilts his head back to silently appeal to whatever god exists and, against his better judgement, follows her yet again.

"I know I am," he mutters, much to her surprise. He catches sight of it and shrugs, "Occasionally. Every once in a rare while. Vivian, just tell me you'll think about it, at least."

She doesn't look at him when she grumbles, "I think you really _are_ obsessed with me, Black."

And perhaps it's just as well that she hadn't looked at him, because she might have seen the exhausted agreement in his eyes – that tired sense of begrudging concession that fills him for only a moment before quietly disappearing, just as Vivian disappears on him the first moment she can.

That quiet concession leaves something within him, though, even after it's gone. It's like the final clash of the last thunderbolt hitting the earth from far above; the edge of a storm that the wind has pushed forward, to direct its eye on some other unsuspecting crowd. It's a maddening feeling that reverberates through him like his name upon her lips had echoed through his mind. It's something that teeters so silently on the very corner of his vision that he hardly sees it at all, and it's only when he's making the long return to the Gryffindor tower that he's able to pinpoint exactly what it is.

That contemplative admission that had left his lips without his knowing had been pressed into existence too sincerely to be false, and when that final thunderbolt strikes him, it imparts with it a realization that he can't ignore. It's a realization that he's _tried_ to ignore, many times in the past, but, like the blurted words that had appeared so suddenly, he no longer can.

He stops in the middle of the corridor and stares ahead of him into nothing, and he feels something that is almost an acknowledgement press against some inner part of him, and it brings with it a rushing need to –

Well. It's difficult to describe a writer's muse. It's like the gossamer wings of an insect flying against the wind, flying too nonsensically to fully understand with any mathematical formula or precise geometric calculation. It's delicate and easily crushed, ghostly even – it slips through your fingers like wisps of cloud waywardly falling to the earth – but sometimes it takes form, barraging through you until you have no choice but to take it into your hands and turn it over and over as if it is a diamond cut a hundred times. It glistens like frost on branches when the morning sunshine slowly awakens the world, and when you look up at its potential it is like you are opening your eyes for the first time.

It takes form now, as the thunderbolt echoes into the diminishing clouds and then quietly takes it leaves.

Vivian, it says:

_Sometimes you are a darkened sky;_

_A cloudy night; a tempered sigh;_

_A winter cardinal singing high_

_Upon a distant tree._

_The song you sing is yet unknown_

_To that distant tree you call your own,_

_There is, within, an undertone_

_That cannot wrangle free._

_Sometimes I think I've never heard_

_A song so sad and yet so blurred – _

_But, like the cardinal's complex words,_

_At last I think I see:_

_Your song is, by design, unclear,_

_To cast away the insincere._

_It is a trick; a fake veneer,_

_That sets adrift the sea._

_For if the world heard your true tune,_

_There's not a man who'd be immune;_

_It is more glamorous than the moon,_

_High in the galaxy.'_

Vivian, it whispers, and then disappears on the wind.


	39. Amantes sunt amentes

**Chapter Thirty Nine | Amantes sunt amentes **

**[Lovers are lunatics]**

As expected, Vivian does not seek Sirius out during the next week to inquire into his help. That she isn't interested in said help isn't surprising to him. There is one thing that _does_ surprise him, though, which is a rather confusing conundrum that he can't seem to stop thinking about. This conundrum is, of course, the admission that had left his lips on that snowy afternoon, pulled into existence without his permission. It's a conundrum that leaves him more confused than he'd like to admit, because – well, he can't _like_ Vivian Blair. Not like _that_.

Initially, after the day is over and he's lying in his bed trying to go to sleep, he decides to put it down as an oversight. The problem with this decision hits him rather hard the next morning, when he sits down to breakfast and watches Vivian receive the morning post. His ongoing prank, which brought him an evil sort of satisfaction in the past, now suddenly seems to harken something else. It's hard to describe just what it is, but there's a certain amount of smug pride that comes with it as he sees the way Vivian snaps at one of her friends and hordes the poem for herself rather than hand it over for others to read. He finds himself resting his chin on his palm and forgetting about his breakfast entirely, instead staring across the hall at the Slytherin table with singular focus.

Her hair is untouched today. It drapes over her shoulders like a dark curtain, emphasizing the soft angle of her cheekbones. In the morning light, it holds a subtle cascade of silver highlights. He finds himself wondering if it's always looked so soft, and before he even knows what he's doing, Sirius is imagining what it might feel like to run his fingers through it. Perhaps her expression would relax into something almost tender. Her head might tilt just so to the side, and maybe his fingers would alight upon her neck to follow the elegant arch of it…

"Earth to Padfoot. Are you daydreaming or something?" James loudly asks. He looks a little too amused when Sirius jerks back on the bench and nearly falls right over the edge of it.

"You've only got ten minutes left to finish your breakfast, you know. Better get a move on," James snickers, and shoots Remus a knowing glance.

Sirius scowls at him and picks up his fork with a brooding glower. "Daydreaming?" he scoffs, as if the mere thought is offensive. A muttered, "Shove off," is added for extra insurance, just in case James decides to loudly say something _else_ that might tarnish his ever-so-important reputation.

"I guess your recent flame didn't successfully distract you," Remus drawls, spearing Sirius with a raised eyebrow. He casts a quick glance at Sophia Keene, who is barely visible as she's sitting as far away from Sirius as is possible.

Ever since the confrontation in the Gryffindor common room several days before, she's made it her mission to inform as many people as she can that Sirius Black kisses like a troll, which the Marauders have obviously found to be utterly hilarious. Sirius had found it decidedly less amusing at first, but after a day or so he had fallen right back into his uncaring attitude and is naturally soaking up the additional attention that he's receiving. Apparently, Sophia's claims have only made everyone even more curious as to whether or not they are true, because Sirius has gotten about a dozen propositions in the last twenty-four hours alone.

Now usually, Sirius would take full advantage of these propositions – and he'd make sure to promptly set the record straight regarding his skill in the art of kissing – but to the surprise of many, he's expressed very little interest in righting his botched reputation. He seems to have taken on the adage 'there is no such thing as bad publicity'. Furthermore, he seems quite preoccupied, as well.

Sirius shrugs and drawls, "Keene? I wouldn't call her a _flame_. She should've known that it wasn't going to last. I have more sense than that."

Peter looks like he's wavering between wanting to nod his agreement and wanting to come out and admit that he doesn't agree at all, because he looks up for a moment from inhaling his omelet. He meets James's eye, who shakes his head at him, and Peter decides that it would be more prudent to just go back to eating. After all, they now only have eight and a half minutes left before breakfast ends, and he still has to finish his second helping of hash browns before they disappear on him.

"If you _really_ had common sense, you'd spill what you found out in Hogsmeade instead of keeping it all to yourself," James says, much to Sirius's agitation.

He'd been able to successfully deflect his friends' questioning at first, but more recently, James has been adamant about finding out everything that Sirius had learned the day he had followed Vivian to the Shrieking Shack. It isn't that Sirius is necessarily keeping it from them. It's just that he doesn't really know what to say, because he doesn't know what sort of task Vivian has been given. That's the real issue, after all. Her apparent engagement to Adrian Mulciber is a whole other topic, and one that isn't shrouded in nearly as much mystery.

"I need to find out more before I say anything," Sirius mutters, casting another glance over at the Slytherin table. Vivian is sipping what looks like tea, having already finished her breakfast. He studies the delicate curve of her wrist as she lifts the cup to her mouth as he says, "…I have to figure out a way to get her alone so that I can interrogate her about it…"

That's the whole problem. Ever since that day on the Quidditch pitch, it's been near impossible to properly corner her. He can't just waltz up to her in the middle of the hallway and demand her attention, after all. He's got a reputation to uphold.

When he turns back to his friends, he finds them all staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"What?" Sirius demands gruffly, and waits for them to say something else about how he's apparently in love with Vivian Blair. Annoying, that is. He's not _in love_ with her. Honestly, just because he's recently realized that he doesn't hate her and that he might find her _somewhat_ attractive doesn't mean anything, right?

The teasing doesn't come, though. Instead, Peter blurts out, "Padfoot, I think you're forgetting you who are."

It's Sirius's turn to raise an eyebrow, this time in confusion, as he glances over at Peter. "How'd you reckon that, Wormtail?" he asks, only for James to shake his head at him, looking like he's coming to the end of his patience.

"Honestly, mate. I thought you were more creative than this," he inputs.

Remus nods. "Can you really _not_ think of a way to get Blair alone for an hour or two?"

Sirius stares at them blankly for all of two seconds before a smirk curls itself over his mouth. Upon seeing it, James shakes his head again, Remus snickers, and Peter sighs in relief before returning to his breakfast with a little too much zeal.

"Of course, I still think the easiest way to deal with this is to just go up and talk to her, but I'll admit that this particular situation might call for more extreme measures," James concedes. Very quickly, his smirk lifts up to match Sirius's.

Oh, this is an expression that the Hogwarts population knows very well by now. It's one that is sure to bring about pandemonium and chaos whenever it appears. It is, naturally, a look that means pranking is imminent.

Sirius glances back over at the Slytherin table and hums, "Did you ever get around to buying those dungbombs, Prongs?"

Prongs just smirks, pushes his glasses up, and responds, "Several dozen, to be precise."

Sirius smirks, stares at Vivian for a moment longer, and then stands up. "Right. Some planning is necessary. Maybe I'll skive first class. This is more important."

"Binns won't even realize. Let's go hang out behind the greenhouses," James immediately responds, looking eager to dive into one of his favorite hobbies.

Sirius pauses and then says, "Fine, fine. You two coming?"

Remus, despite having the reputation of being a stellar student, is not exactly averse to skipping classes when the situation calls for it. He shrugs and makes to get up, casting a glance at Peter, who is trying to shove the last remaining piece of hash brown into his already full mouth.

The other Marauders turn to watch him succeed at this great and noble feat, and only shake their heads at him as he swings his legs over the bench and teeters into a standing position.

"That was truly impressive, Wormtail," James says, slapping a hand on his back as they make their way out of the Great Hall. "I think you've just managed to eat a full day's worth of food in just one sitting."

Peter, who is still chewing even as he walks towards the doors, just nods happily.

* * *

Concerning pranks, the Marauders prefer to take their time with the planning process to ensure that the end result is perfectly chaotic and breeds optimal disorder. They have a way of things, you see, that relies in part on precision and much planning, whilst at the same time allows for a certain generosity towards intuitive decision-making. This process has been honed over a course of several years, and has allowed them to claim a title that they are most proud of: Hogwart's most successful Enemies of Peace. This title is one that they will hold for several decades until it is challenged by two red-headed mischief-makers, but at this current moment in history, it remains theirs absolutely.

Now on this particular night, in this particular corridor, you will soon see a perfect example of this practiced blend of precision and intuition, for on this night the Marauders are, so to speak, on top of their game.

"Target is four corridors down and heading this way, gentlemen," Prongs whispers. He glances away from the map and asks, "Wormtail, how fares the dungbombs?"

Wormtail, from his position several paces away, responds, "All in position, Prongs."

"And the fireworks, Moony?"

"Well, I still think we should have used less of them, but – "

"I'll take that as an affirmative. Padfoot?"

"The tripwire is in place. Also, seeing as I'm the mastermind behind this prank, I think I should be the one asking the questions," Padfoot adds.

"That is irrelevant, seeing as I've already asked them," Prongs retaliates.

"Still, as the leader of this most dishonorable, no-good band of Marauders, I think we ought to have a more outlined distribution of roles."

"What do you think this is, an assembly?"

"We are far above menial organizations, Prongs, but now that you mention it, it might be a good idea to set something up, in the instance that one of us oversteps themselves."

"It seems like you're overstepping right now, Padfoot. I think you've forgotten yet again that we've all agreed that _I'm_ the leader, not you."

"I don't believe we've ever had an official vote."

"That's because we don't need one. I'm the obvious choice."

"I thought this was a democracy – "

"Target is two corridors down!" Wormtail exclaims, settling the argument for now.

"Merlin! Into position, gentlemen!" Prongs quickly says, and throws the cloak over his shoulders after shoving the map into Moony's arms.

Padfoot glowers at the place where Prongs had just stood and hurriedly inputs, "Right, gentlemen – into position," before slipping behind the statue of Crandall the Crosseyed.

Tonight marks the conclusion of one week of planning. Padfoot had not lied in claiming to be the mastermind behind said planning. He had indeed come up with the idea of utilizing the classic tripwire scenario, but his dishonorable friends had helped the idea into fruition.

To summarize, the prank will go something like this: Vivian Blair, AKA The Target, walks unassumingly around the corner, tripping the wire that is stretched across the corridor and thereby setting off the first round of fireworks. Amid the chaos of fizzing whizbees and whirling firecrackers, the much-praised Rochester Roman Candle alights into the air with a vengeance. Its trajectory, calculated in a rarely used feat of mathematical aptitude by one Messr. Moony, collides with the ceiling, knocking into a single dungbomb and exploding into an impressive display that is most certainly not meant for one single school corridor to contain. This dungbomb, having been knocked from its placement, falls at a slight angle to the floor (M. Moony was quite thorough) and drops directly onto another tripwire, which, when pulled, sets off a small flame. This flame then sets alight a single fuse, which catches afire due to the oil that it has been treated with. The flame quickly travels down the corridor, spreading to smaller fuses as it goes and colliding with multiple fireworks. These fireworks, whose trajectories have been further calculated to ensure proper alignment, promptly knock into some half dozen dungbombs, which are set up throughout the corridor in various hidden areas, and, by the time they drop to the floor and go off, (spreading their customary stench throughout) The Target should be in prime position to truly appreciate the refined and highly sophisticated prank, brought to her by Hogwarts' most extraordinary Enemies of Peace.

If this doesn't make Vivian Blair angry enough to give him a detention (where they will successfully be stuck in the same room together for at least an hour), he doesn't know what will.

"One corridor down!" Moony hisses through the darkness, and Sirius grins.

But the strangest thing happens, as he's standing in the shadows, waiting for The Target to arrive. Despite planning this out for the last week and sneaking into Hogsmeade to ensure that they have enough fireworks and dungbombs to make it the best prank ever concocted (well, until the next one, anyway), in that moment, as Sirius waits with baited breath behind Crandall the Crosseyed, he pauses.

Now, the whole point of being a Marauder is that there are no rules in becoming one. There are certainly no orderly meetings or voting sessions (despite Padfoot's complaints), for such things go directly against the most dishonorable name of their pact. The only necessity of character that a Marauder must possess is, of course, an unfailing desire to create mischief whenever and wherever is possible. There cannot be any sign of indecision or hesitance, for these traits speak of an underlying condition that all Marauders across the world shiver upon hearing: a disposition towards law and order, which is the antithesis of the Marauding lifestyle.

Sirius Black, who prides himself in being one of the greatest and most dedicated Marauders in history, has never in his life backed out of a prank. But as he's leaning against Crandall's stone figure, he has a thought. Oh, it isn't necessarily a _new_ thought, in that he has never had it before or, indeed, that it has not impacted his actions in the past. In fact, this particular thought has been one that has proven rather difficult to shake over this past week especially, but he has thus far managed to shove it out sight and out of mind to the best of his Marauding abilities. The only problem is that this is one of those thoughts that, once it has dug its claws into a man, is extremely arduous to remove in its entirety.

The thought has to do with something that had been said to The Target – er, _Vivian_ – on a particularly cold day one week prior. Yes, and it happens to be a thought that has consequences, especially to a person who has spent the better half of the last year trying to mitigate the feelings that align themselves with it.

And so Padfoot, greatest and most dedicated of his fellow Marauders (though they may dispute this), does the one thing that he knows a mischief-maker ought never do. He hesitates.

In the briefest span of that moment, as Vivian Blair begins to walk around the corner, all Sirius Black can think of is that if she walks into that tripwire and sets off his spectacular prank, she will never forgive him.

Alas to the man who thinks that a woman's vengeance is not all-consuming. It can at least be said that Sirius Black is, occasionally, wise to the workings to the female race.

Dear readers, what happens next marks the onset of the Perfect Example; the necessity to be both precise as well as intuitive where it concerns pulling a proper prank. Well actually, to be more accurate, this Perfect Example in fact utilizes a paradoxical approach: it outlines what one should _not_ do, _ever,_ if one wishes to pull a proper prank.

The Target is now hardly three steps away from the first tripwire when Padfoot, overcome with the thought that she may perhaps get _so_ angry at him for this that perhaps a detention will be the _least_ of his rewards (curses and hexes being the most likely alternative), jumps out from behind the statue and exclaims, "Stop!" in a voice so panicked and harrowed that Vivian, surprised to even see him there at all, does indeed stop.

Of course, now that Sirius has so thoroughly abandoned his hiding place, he finds himself standing there in the center of the corridor, which is completely dark save for the bright light emitting from Vivian's wand, and – well, I hardly think that the next course of events should be too terribly surprising, considering the circumstances.

There are, after all, _two_ tripwires.

Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail all watch with gaping mouths as Padfoot stumbles over the wire located in the center of the corridor. This wire, if you recall, sets off a flame, which immediately catches onto a fuse, which splits into many other fuses, and ultimately sets off quite a few fireworks. And, if in case you've forgotten what happens when these fireworks go off, allow me to paint a picture for you:

Sirius Black extraordinaire, greatest and most dedicated Marauder in the history of mischief-making, gets pelted with dozens of dungbombs.

But oh, it isn't over yet. This is quite an elaborate prank (which Sirius is beginning to now regret most grievously) and as the dungbombs are knocked to the ground by the fireworks, Sirius makes the mistake of trying to run for cover. It seems that finally, he has remembered the single most important rule of thumb for Marauding: never hesitate. Unfortunately, and most likely because he has _already_ hesitated (and therefore tipped the sacred balance), it is far too late.

"_Bloody hell!"_ he yelps, and throws himself towards the wall as fireworks and dungbombs explode around him, sending off sparks and putrid gases. The corridor descends into a chaos like no other, which would normally be incredibly impressive if it wasn't for his position right in the center of it. As it is, he doesn't exactly have the opportunity to really appreciate his masterful prank coming to life (albeit backwards and sadly out of order), because he's a bit too busy trying not to get singed by the many fireworks crashing into the wall beside him, and all he can think about is that he may have made this prank a little _too_ extraordinary (and perhaps invested in one too many fireworks, at that).

But, as was mentioned some paragraphs prior, it isn't over yet.

As was also mentioned, there are two trapwires.

How Sirius Black, great Marauder that he is, manages to stumble into the second wire so clumsily, one will never know. (In fact, while we are on the subject, it should be said that years from now when this prank is laughingly brought up in conversation, he will adamantly deny having jumped out into the hallway to begin with.) All that needs knowing is really how The Target, AKA Vivian Blair, reacts to the sight.

Now you may recall that the first tripwire is attached to a roman candle. To explain the general workings of this firework for the Marauder novices in the audience, roman candles are wondrous things that explode into a series of flaming balls and fluttering sparks, and often reach rather high altitudes because they are so large and, well, dangerous (see below).

As the roman candle begins to zoom forward into the pandemonium, Vivian stares in total and complete shock into the corridor ahead of her. The odd firework whizzes past her head, but they are mostly contained in the space before her. In fact, at this particular point in time, many of the fireworks have since lost their power and have dropped to the floor along with their now-useless dungbomb counterparts, but the momentary silence of their conclusion is soon filled by the very loud and very violent triggering of the Rochester Roman Candle. See, there is a reason why this firework is much-praised, and that is because it is very powerful, and has a range that is (again) most certainly _not meant_ for school corridors.

"Oh _fuck,"_ Sirius bemoans, and watches as it crashes headfirst into the lone dungbomb, last of its kind, and proceeds to release the loudest screeching noise that one can imagine. That is not all it does, though, and in the thick of things, Sirius concedes that it had been a completely shortsighted and yes, _brainless_ thing to invest their Marauding funds in.

The Rochester Roman Candle erupts into enormous balls of fire, one after the other, shooting against the walls and into the ceiling. Loop-de-loops senselessly crash past him, knocking over paintings and sending the portraits into a tizzy. A blast of sparks waterfalls over him, singing his clothes and hair. In a moment of frantic hysteria, he thinks that one of his eyebrows has caught on fire and immediately starts slapping at his face as he trips backwards and pushes himself away from the pure chaos and towards – well.

A hand grabs a fistful of his shirt and forcefully drags him backwards, and just in time, too, because the place in which he had just been standing gets hit by one of the balls of fire. He stumbles back, lands on his arse, and, breathing hard, looks up to see Vivian crouching in front of him with wide, capricious eyes. But there must be something about the sight he makes (eyebrow smoking, hair singed, looking so appallingly stunned), because the judgmental expression is very quick to fade into something else entirely.

He has seen her laugh before, but it had not held a candle (excuse the pun) to _this._

Vivian breaks out into such laughter that she has to wipe tears from her eyes. The sight of him makes her laugh so hard that she ends up stumbling backwards, so overcome by the hilarity of the whole situation that she can no more hold her position than she can look away from him. And she doesn't – look away that is. Every other second, just when he thinks that perhaps her laughter is coming to an end, she glances back at his stunned expression and laughs all over again, just as senselessly as she had before. And Sirius just stares at her with that astounded look on his face, brought into existence partly because of the complete and utter failure of his master prank, and also due to the fact that Vivian Blair looks _incredibly_ gorgeous when she is overcome with mirth. And really, considering that he has spent so long trying to mitigate his feelings, and undermining the truth of them, and lying to himself about what they really are, is it any wonder what he ends up blurting?

"You're gorgeous," comes unbidden from his lips, as he props himself up onto his elbows, on the floor of the corridor, while the Rochester Roman Candle explodes into an enormous loop-de-loop and skids across the ceiling, leaving soot marks in its wake.

And it's the strangest thing, really, because he is not afraid of the words. When he says them, his whole chest grows warm, and his mouth tilts into a broad smile, and he discovers that he'd like to say them again, and again, and again…

But he can't, because here's the thing:

When you have dedicated yourself to being a True Marauder, and have sworn to uphold yourself to the dishonorable vows therein, you learn a thing or two about several important – nay, _critical_ – things that must be set up in order to ensure that a prank always succeeds. Yes, of course, the act of hesitation leads to obvious detriment, but what I am referring to now is in essence more of an escape plan.

See, magic is quite useful to the burgeoning Marauder, and should be utilized often and with much frequency. The most useful spell of all happens to be one that muffles the sound of a prank. One might think that, considering how all four Marauders are present, one of them would have had the foresight to cast such a spell, but this is unfortunately not the case. (Though Prongs will later claim that because it was Padfoot's idea, it was his responsibility. He will also add that this misstep makes Padfoot a shit leader, and will forever consider this failure as justification to assert his own leadership.)

All this aside, Sirius does not get to repeat his words. He doesn't even have the chance to hear Vivian's reaction to them, though they certainly make her laughter stop (he'll have to remember that), because it is at this moment that someone else arrives on the scene.

"You four again?!" Filch screeches, holding onto Mrs. Norris tightly when a stray ball of fire hurls towards them.

And now, concerning the Perfect Example, in which we speak about precision vs. intuition, one last thing ought to be mentioned. The reason as to why the Marauders are so successful at what they do is because there happens to be four of them, and between the four, they balance each other out rather perfectly in that some are more precise while others are more intuitive. Working together is the natural and most efficient state of existence (it helps that they are also friends) because each Marauder brings something else to the table.

You might be wondering which of the two Sirius Black has been graced with. Allow me to illustrate.

When he sees Filch and his scraggly cat, Sirius does not think. He does not consider his options, or try to come up with a reason as to why he is in the center of this corridor in the middle of the night while fireworks explode around him. He certainly doesn't hesitate this time, when he throws himself to his feet, grabs Vivian's hand, and breathlessly pulls her away from Filch's shouting form.

Intuition, dear friends. Let us hope that it will save him from Vivian Blair's potentially upcoming wrath.


	40. Iuncta iuvant, alta petit

**Chapter Forty | Iuncta iuvant, alta petit **

**[Union is strength, it seeks the heights]**

Sirius Black has spent much of his Hogwarts career running through the castle after hours. Alas, it is a necessary evil when one has taken the unholy vows of the Marauding lifestyle. Many sleepless nights have been dedicated to building up the reputation of being the dishonorable prankster that he has cultivated, which of course means that he is not only well-equipped to set up said pranks, but also quite practiced where it concerns making himself scarce from the scene of the crime. To summarize, running away from trouble happens to be his forte. There is just one issue with his escape plan on this particular night, and it comes in the form of one Slytherin prefect who happens to believe that she hates Sirius Black just as much as she ever has, regardless of any event that has occurred in the recent past. To claim that said recent events have altered her perception of his character would not be false, but Vivian Blair is a stubborn and prideful creature, and these traits hold a certain sway over her actions even now.

She lets him drag her all the way to the fourth floor before the reality of the situation resettles itself, and she realizes several important facts:

One: Sirius Black is not allowed to be walking around the castle after curfew and therefore, by revealing himself in such a manner, is practically begging for House Points to be taken away.

Two: he has basically just made her seem like she is somehow connected to his prank – and, more so, Filch is probably looking for them both at this very minute, thinking that she is some kind of accomplice to his ridiculous firework display.

Three: he is grasping her hand, and has been grasping it ever since he first locked his fingers with her and had breathlessly pulled her away from that corridor on the first floor.

Four: Sirius Black has just called her gorgeous.

Now, there is a fine balance that must be maintained when one has entered into an antagonistic relationship with another. Vivian wouldn't necessarily refer to Sirius Black as her arch-nemesis or anything so childish, but she _would_ claim him to be a natural rival of whom she is in direct unalignment. Far be it from her to make up the rules of rivalry, but she highly doubts that calling one's rival 'gorgeous' fits the bill. Which leads to yet another realization.

Five: she feels, inexplicably, uncontrollably, disturbingly _pleased_ with this – only she can't quite tell if it's real pleasure or just prideful smugness, that he has clearly lost his mind to such an extent.

Either way, it doesn't stop her from wrangling her hand away from his the first moment she can.

"What are you _doing?_ Filch is probably right behind us – " Sirius begins to say, glancing past her and into the gloom of the castle beyond. He sounds slightly panicked and slightly excited, as if he thinks that this part of his ridiculous prank is the most fun. The escape, that is.

Vivian, having had all of her realizations and feeling better equipped to handle the strange situation that she finds herself in now, immediately fires back, "What are _you_ doing? You can't just grab me and – and pull me through the fucking castle like this – _Salazar,_ you do know that your hair is on fire, right?"

This is delivered in the sort of manner that speaks of secondary thoughts pressing their way into the forefront of one's mind, as a sort of shock wave of awareness that had not been had moments before, but quickly takes priority over one's speech. The words aren't said in a manner that seems degrading or sarcastic, but rather alarmed.

Sirius is a bit alarmed himself. This shouldn't be surprising, seeing as he happens to think that his hair is one of his finest features (though, to be fair, he also thinks that his _every_ feature is best), and takes more time than most teenage boys grooming it into perfection each morning. When she points out that his prized hair is smoking, he immediately starts freaking out.

Vivian watches for several seconds as he erratically pats it, before she snorts out a laugh and snickers, "I was _joking_. Your hair isn't smoking."

Sirius quickly realizes that she had indeed been joking, for his hair doesn't feel any more out of place than it ought to, having run through the castle to escape Filch's imminent punishment, and scowls quite fitfully at her. Joking about his hair is crossing the line, after all.

"Your shirt, though, actually _is_ smoking," Vivian adds, casting a glance down to the hem of his once-crisp button up. The garment has certainly been put through the wringer tonight. In fact, the same could be said for Sirius Black as a whole. Besides his unkempt hair, his person is littered with soot and grime from his run-in with the floor. His loosened tie is askew, one of his sleeves is rolled up higher than the other, and his eyebrow is slightly singed. Also, true to her word (this time), the hem of his shirt is in fact smoldering just so.

There is an adage, though, that goes something like this: Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice…

Well, in other words, Sirius doesn't believe her this time, and doesn't even deign to cast a glance down to said hem lest he fall prey to her sarcasm a second time tonight.

"I hate to use this phrase, but I'm actually being serious," Vivian drawls, and raises an eyebrow at him.

Sirius scoffs at her and starts to say, "Nice try, Godric, but I –", and then promptly cuts himself off when he finally does look down at his shirt, only to realize that she is right. _"Merlin's Balls put it out!" _he exclaims, and trips backwards into yet another maneuver of complete and utter gracelessness.

Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that Vivian is only _too happy_ to do exactly that, she'd be beside herself at the sight of him frantically patting his shirt in an effort to stop it from smoldering. As it is, she feels that, every once in a great while, it is actually in her best interests to listen to him. This is a prime example.

Before Sirius can achieve the salvation of his ruined shirt, Vivian points her wand at him and smugly says, _"Aguamenti," _and a stream of water immediately drenches him.

Now, at this moment in history, there are only two things that Sirius Black hates most in the world. The first is having one of his pranks backfire on him. The second is being woefully assailed by a Slytherin. Considering that the events of tonight has brought about both of these, he is not entirely pleased with the end results, which he makes quite clear when he lifts his head to glower at Vivian.

Still, if one is optimistic enough (Gryffindors typically are), there is always a silver lining to any injustice. He _is,_ after all, alone with Vivian Blair, which had been the entire reason for his prank to begin with.

"That was completely unnecessary," he tells her, still glowering.

"I disagree," she replies, still smug.

"You've just made it that much more difficult to escape Filch," he gruffly points out, and starts to wring the water out of his shirt, which is beginning to create a discriminating puddle on the floor.

Vivian watches with a smirk and shrugs, _"I_ wasn't involved in your little prank, so it hardly matters if he catches me."

Sirius spears her with a look, pauses, and then chuckles, "Oh Godric, you really are _such_ a novice."

It's the way he says it, all arrogant and knowing, that makes Vivian narrow her eyes. Her smugness takes a turn into pride when she scoffs, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

He raises a singed eyebrow at her and shakes his head. "Do you actually think that Filch will let you go without a detention? He's practically _lives_ for punishing students. He won't give a rat's arse that you weren't involved. You were there, which means you share the responsibility of my spectacular prank." Sirius sniffs and adds, "Really, you should be honored. It was my best work yet."

Vivian crosses her arms and sneers, "Oh please. You were practically rolling around on the floor for the entirety of it. I'd say that if anyone was a novice, it's you."

Sirius, self-declared Marauder that he is, doesn't appreciate that. He crosses his arms, too, and retaliates, "I did that for _you, _to stop you from setting off the tripwire. I took the fall for you, Blair."

Vivian doesn't appreciate _this_. _"Took the fall _for me? Didn't you set that whole prank up to _mess_ with me?"

"Well yeah, but my reasons were innocent enough."

"You set a fucking _roman candle_ off in the middle of the corridor. _How_ is that innocent?"

"It got your attention, didn't it?" he wonders, eyes flashing. The words make her pause in surprise. He takes advantage of that. "It made you laugh…" he says, and takes a step towards her.

"At _you,"_ she scoffs, and takes a step back. Inside, she suddenly can't stop thinking about the way he'd said –

_You're gorgeous._

"At _me,"_ he repeats, but unlike her, he sounds vaguely proud of this, and takes another step forward.

There's something in his expression that makes Vivian's heart absolutely take off. It's difficult to describe with words alone. It's those confusing side-effects again, which make her breathless and fumbling. If she was being entirely honest with herself, those side-effects aren't nearly as confusing as they had been in the past, but honesty has never been something that Vivian Blair has dealt with in too much detail, which is why her current dilemma is so difficult to explain.

She _could_ say that the slightly possessive nature of Sirius Black's eyes in that moment is what makes her lips part and her breath shorten. She could say that, the nearer he gets, the more her body erupts into shivers. She could even claim that perhaps she _wants_ him to be closer – wants him to take that final step – to press her against the wall and to claim some part of her that is anchored in every depraved and shameless element of humankind –

Yes, she could say all of those things, but she doesn't, because of one reason:

It frightens her.

Jane Austen once said: "It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others."

Timing is everything where it concerns matters of the heart, and Vivian Blair's own heart is not yet aligned with that of Sirius Black's.

Sometimes, love is as light as a butterfly's wings fluttering overhead; sometimes it is as dark and as encompassing as the night sky, when the stars have gone out and the moon has been hidden behind heavy smog and rain clouds. At other times still, it is nothing more than a whisper sent out into time and space and never returned. Love is a mirror with a thousand sides, and sometimes when you look at it, it reflects back upon you, while at other times you will never see its reflection at all. That's the problem with love, you see. It's a fickle creature, built on pride and jealousy. The core of it is pure, but human nature contaminates it as it is wont to do to pure things.

"What are you doing?" Vivian breathes, for the second time that night, and presses herself to the stone wall of the corridor.

And if some part of her wants him to follow – to press her further against it – well, time is not aligned with such things tonight.

"Aha! I've got you now, you filthy rule-breakers!" comes the voice of one Argus Filch, whose hand descends upon Sirius's shoulder before any further words or actions may be made. Mrs. Norris, scraggly cat that she is, releases a _meow_ that seems quite smug, and Filch, insane maniac that _he_ is, purrs, "That's right, dearie. We've got 'em, and they're not going to like what we've got planned."

Vivian's eyes locked with Sirius's, who is now looking at her with an expression that seems to say 'I told you so'.

"I had nothing to do with that ridiculous prank – " she tries to say anyway. The thick energy that had just existed in the spaces of the hallway now drops away, and she remembers herself again. Most specifically, she remembers that she will _not_ let Sirius Black's stupid prank interfere with her valuable time.

"Quiet!" Filch snarls at her, and grabs a fistful of her collar, now pulling both her and Sirius down the hallway with a dark smile on his face. He gleefully declares, "A month's worth of detentions, I think, for destroying a dozen paintings and decimating an entire corridor!"

"_A month?"_ Vivian repeats, mouth dropping open.

"_Really?"_ Sirius grins, sounding quite hopeful.

Vivian shoots a glare at him, but he can't find it in himself to mind. They say that the end doesn't always justify the means, but in this instance, he begs to differ. After all, he had set up that prank in hopes of landing himself in one single detention with Vivian Blair, so that he could talk to her properly about that mysterious task, but instead he's been rewarded with an entire month of one-on-one time with a girl that he's quite certain he finds more attractive every single day.

They also say that all's well that ends well, don't they?

* * *

Word has a habit of spreading like wildfire through Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sometimes there is some usefulness in the gossiping nature of its students. This is not one of those times. Well, not for Vivian, anyway.

"Shouldn't you be more focused on your task, Blair?" Mulciber hisses at her when they're sitting in Potions the next morning. "You _do realize_ that you've got a deadline, don't you?"

"Oh shove off," she returns, crossing her arms as she glowers over at Slughorn, who is lecturing them on the merits of using dittany to treat wounds.

"You're wasting time, running around and landing yourself in detentions with that _filth_ – " he continues, as if she hadn't spoken.

Vivian turns to glare at him and sneers, "I've already told you, I ran into him on my prefect rounds and that stupid squib thought that I was somehow involved – "

"Ahem. I do hope that my Slytherins are paying attention," Slughorn intervenes, sending a glance over at Mulciber and Vivian. "You'll be tested on this! Now, why don't you all prepare your work stations so that we can get started."

Vivian is only too happy to do that, if only because it gives her an excuse to remove herself from Mulciber's presence. As if she needs him to tell her what she's already aware of. A month's worth of detentions with Sirius Black is bad enough without everything _else_ she has to deal with.

After taking some time to set up her cauldron for today's potion, Vivian heads over to the storage cabinet to collect some dittany. The nature of this potion is relatively simple, so they'll be working alone today, thank Merlin. Of course, just because she'll be able to spend much of the class at her own desk doesn't mean that she'll actually _be left_ alone. That would obviously be too much to ask for.

"Bravo, Blair. I was thoroughly impressed with your aptitude to rack up so many detentions in just one night," James says as he joins her in the storage cabinet. He sends her a smirk and adds, "Keep it up and we might even offer you the title of 'Honorary Marauder'."

Perhaps some students would be over the moon to hear such a thing from the legendary James Potter. Vivian is not one of them.

"Who knew it was so easy to surpass the bar you've set," she drawls, and begins riffling through the dittany to find a sample that is as intact as possible.

James grins. "Well, you can't receive all the credit. Padfoot did all the hard work, after all."

Vivian glowers at him. "Yes. _I know,"_ she responds through slightly gritted teeth.

"You do realize that this whole thing means, don't you?" he wonders, raising an eyebrow at her. He isn't even making an effort to gather any ingredients for his own potion, which is yet another source of annoyance to Vivian. As such, she doesn't reply, and merely sends him one more hard look before deciding to just settle on the best looking sprig of dittany that she can find and be done with it. As she picks one out, James sighs and pushes up his glasses. He decides to take it upon himself to inform her, "Sirius Black just got himself a month's worth of detentions. For _you."_

Vivian, now completely gritting her teeth, hisses, "Yes. I know. As we've just gone over, I've _also_ _been_ _punished."_

James shakes his head. "You don't get it. This is monumental. He told you he thinks you're _gorgeous! _Don't you understand what's going on here?"

Now Vivian is really quite frustrated for several reasons, the lesser being that she's stuck in this cupboard with James Potter, one of the Gryffindors that she loathes the most; the greater being that she had just spent the better part of last night in Filch's office while he gleefully outlined a month's worth of punishment for a crime that she hadn't even committed, with Sirius proposing ideas for detentions in a manner far too happy to be normal. As such, she hadn't exactly gotten much sleep last night. It certainly doesn't help that Sirius seems to have retained his pleasant mood in spite of it all. Listening to Potter's speculations about Sirius's apparent insanity isn't exactly something she's interested in doing right about now.

"I understand _completely,"_ she assures him in a tone of voice too sarcastic to be sincere. Turning to face him, Vivian scoffs, "He's finally proven that he needs to be locked up with all the other mental weirdos in St. Mungo's."

With that, she shoulders her way past him and sends him one last sneer before ducking back into the Potions classroom, leaving Potter to stare at the door as it swings closed.

He lets out a grumbled sigh and mutters, "…Knew that since _first_ year…" before turning to grab the first sprig of dittany that he sees and following her out.

When he returns to his desk, Sirius leans towards him to whisper, "What were you doing in that cupboard with Blair? Did she say anything about last night?"

James just rolls his eyes at him and throws the dittany at his face.

He spends the remainder of class watching Sirius send notes to Vivian (who promptly uses them to feed the flame beneath her cauldron), and decides that perhaps Sirius had been right after all: maybe the Marauders _do_ need to hold an assembly. The more notes Sirius sends Vivian, the more determined he is, and the more careless he becomes. Really, it's only a matter of time before he completely decimates the dishonorable reputation of their group.

An intervention is necessary…but said intervention would be far more productive if it involved _both_ parties, and James has an idea that might end with more than _one_ person getting the girl of their dreams.

* * *

"Lilyflower! Lilyflower! Lily – "

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" Lily demands, turning on her heel to face one James Potter, who skids to a rather ungraceful halt before he runs right into her. He somehow doubts that such an action would make a good impression on this fine morning.

Lifting his hands in surrender, James laughs, "But your name is too beautiful not to embellish – "

"Just tell me what you want. I'm busy," Lily cuts in, and then adds, "If this is about the prefect meeting later today, I've already told you when it is, where it's being held, what the dress code is, and what the topics are going to be, so you should've run out of useless questions by now."

James pauses, runs a hand through his already mussed up hair, and hesitantly chuckles, "Er, right. Well actually most of those questions were very relevant to the matter at hand, but anyhow – I think we need an intervention, Lilyfl – Lily."

He sends her a large grin as if he hopes that it might make her more willing to listen to him, and waits.

Lily stares at him for one long moment before releasing a frustrated huff. She closes her eyes and tilts her face heavenward, as if she's silently praying for patience. James just continues to smile widely and appreciates the view.

"We, as in _you and me,_ need an intervention," she repeats, sounding quite impatient.

James lifts an eyebrow and snorts, _"We_ don't need an intervention. We already _know_ that we're destined to be together." When he sees the murderous haze encroaching into her expression, he hurries to clarify, "I'm talking about Sirius and Blair, obviously. They're beyond hopeless, and Sirius has gotten a bit pathetic since he's realized that he fancies her."

This seems to be news to Lily, who is surprised enough to bypass James's 'destined lovers' bullshit in favor of saying, "Wait. _Sirius Black,_ who has a new girlfriend every _week,_ fancies _Vivian Blair?"_

James pauses. For a moment, he considers defending his best mate's dating reputation, then thinks better of it and just shrugs, "Well yeah. Haven't you noticed?"

Lily shoots him a raised eyebrow and responds in a clipped tone, "I try not to notice _anything_ about you or your friends, Potter."

James just waves her words away and responds, "We are a bit difficult to keep up with, I suppose." Then, seeing that her eyes are narrowing, he hurriedly asks, "Look, you're a girl, right? You'd know what to say to Vivian to make her realize that she _also_ fancies Sirius. I'm proposing that we work together, for the betterment of the human race."

Lily seems to be at the end of her rope. She rubs her forehead and sighs, "Potter, if you spent half as much time on your Head Boy duties as you do on your friends' relationships, my life would be so much easier."

"Right, we can enter into an arrangement, then," James replies, smiling widely at her once more. "I take on some of your workload and you agree to join Operation Vivirius."

Lily looks at him blankly. "That sounds like an infection."

James' smile becomes even wider. In a proud voice, he says, "I know, isn't it great?"

She doesn't seem to appreciate the finer points of his plan, and just mutters, "No, it really isn't."

In contrast, he doesn't seem put out. James Potter has a high tolerance for the pain that his Lilyflower occasionally inflicts upon his poor soul. He knows that she only does it because she doesn't want to admit that she's head-over-heels in love with him, so he just patiently shrugs and edges towards her (noting that she's wearing a flowery perfume today, how lovely - ) before saying, "We can work out a better name for our operation later. What do you say?"

Lily rolls her eyes at him and scoffs, "I don't have time to play matchmaker for Sirius Black. If he can't get a girl, it's hardly _my_ problem. I've got my marks to keep up with and my Head Girl responsibilities and – "

"Yes, yes, I know, but didn't you hear about the firework incident last night?" James questions, though it's rather unnecessary. The whole school has heard about that by now. The corridor that had witnessed the spectacular display has been cordoned off by Filch, and it's become something of a landmark within the school, gaining the sort of popularity that a tourist attraction might hold. James, seeing that Lily is very much aware of said prank (and not appearing all that impressed with it, at that) points out, "You know how Sirius is. This is only the beginning. Think about how many more corridors will be destroyed in his efforts to get Blair to talk to him! Think about the priceless portraits that will be ripped to shreds; the ancient statues that have been here since Merlin's time; the – "

"Okay you can stop now," Lily cuts him off, "I know you don't actually care about portraits and statues. If this is one of your grand schemes to get me to go out with you, Potter, I swear to Godric – "

"It's not!" James cries, and almost adds 'mostly!' to the end of his exclamation. He shakes his head and says, "Sirius and Blair have just landed themselves with a month's worth of detentions. If Operation Vivirius doesn't work out by the end of the month, we can go our separate ways. In fact, I'll even promise that I'll never bother you again."

He nearly grimaces when _that_ comes out of his mouth, but Lily looks positively delighted. She raises her eyebrows and turns to study him more closely, appearing as though she's a little more interested than she'd been a moment before. James, upon seeing said interest, straightens up and quickly adds, "I won't even say hello to you. In fact, I won't even _look_ at you. I'll never say your name again."

Oh Merlin, but he actually _does_ grimace when he says _that_. He hopes this is worth the sacrifice.

Lily beams. "You should've started with that, Potter. I would've been much more willing to hear you out," she tells him, and he grimaces again. "Okay, fine, I'll help you. But if at any point I want to end our agreement, I have full right to do so. And if this scheme of yours fails, you're not allowed to say a single word to me for the rest of your life."

James immediately pales. "The rest of my _life?"_ he squeaks.

Lily smiles smugly. "The rest of your life," she repeats, before holding out her hand. "Deal?"

James stares mournfully at said hand and heaves out a sigh. Suddenly, this intervention seems like a very bad idea.

"Fine," he says with a fierce frown, and reaches forward to shake Lily's hand. "It's a deal."

She gives his hand two firm shakes before forcefully wrangling it out of his and sniffs, "Good. I'll see you at the prefect meeting later today, then, and afterwards, we can start planning." And then his ladylove turns on her heel and leaves him in the dust, and as James watches her go, he decides right then and there that Sirius is going to have to step up and stop being a complete and utter idiot, because if he doesn't…

Well, James Potter is going to _kill_ him.


	41. Primogenitus

**Chapter Forty One | Primogenitus **

**[The firstborn son]**

"I'm a bit disappointed, Vivian," is the first thing that comes out of Gavin Clark's mouth when he sidles up beside her later that day.

The reason for his appearance is, of course, the prefect meeting that Vivian has grudgingly dragged herself to, despite her desire to skip it entirely. After dinner, she has to report to Filch's office for the first of many detentions, and she's not very pleased with the fact that her free time has been commandeered to such an extent. She hasn't gotten any further in figuring out what to do with the task set aside for her by the Dark Lord, and every second of her time is important.

Vivian, who has been in a foul mood all day, grouses, "I literally don't give a fuck, Clarke."

And Gavin, who's ears are too innocent for such language, purses his mouth at her and grouses back, "You don't have to be so rude."

She sighs, crosses her arms, and glowers around the room, which is slowly filling up with other prefects. The Head Boy has yet to show his face (she hopes he trips on the staircase and ends up falling on his arse, the prat), but the Head Girl is already standing at attention by one of the desks, preparing a stack of papers as she waits for everyone to arrive.

"I'm not in a good mood," she mutters, eyes flashing as she recalls the month of detentions lined up for her, courtesy of Sirius fucking Black.

"Yes, I noticed," Gavin says, crossing his arms too as he casts her a sidelong glance. "I highly doubt that you'd agree to take part in one of Black's schemes, so why haven't you taken this up with your Head of House? I'm sure Slughorn would make Filch revoke your punishment."

Vivian's immediate response is a frustrated, "I already talked to Slughorn about it. He told me that he'd speak to Filch, but I doubt that's going to happen. I think he's _afraid_ of that useless squib."

Gavin purses his mouth again. _"Language,_ Vivian."

She promptly turns her glower on him and grouses, "I'm too annoyed to be polite, Clarke. If you don't have anything worthwhile to say, I'm really not in the mood."

He huffs at her, but doesn't argue and instead just returns, "Maybe you should take this up with Dumbledore, then. He'd sort everything out."

Mention of Dumbledore makes Vivian grumble to herself. As if she would ever go to _that_ second-rate wizard for help! He may be the Headmaster, but Vivian would rather go groveling to Filch himself than to ask Dumbledore for assistance. Of course, her current disposition may have something to do with Sirius's offer of help one week prior, but she's too stubborn to admit that. Her pride would surely take a hit if she were to go to him, and so she just remains silent and doesn't respond to Gavin at all, preferring to cross her arms more tightly and frown more deeply.

Gavin, who has become accustomed to her stubbornness by now, sighs.

"I really don't understand you sometimes, Vivian," he tells her.

"I don't think _anyone_ does, Clarke," someone _else_ responds, and Vivian frowns even more angrily.

"Shove off, Potter," she immediately scorns, redirecting her glower to a more deserving target.

James doesn't seem overly concerned with being said target, and just smiles pleasantly at her. He slings an arm over her shoulder as if they're the best of friends and proclaims, "Since I'm looking to name you an Honorary Marauder, Blair, I'll take your tone with a grain of salt."

Gavin raises an eyebrow upon hearing this and watches as Vivian lets out a disgusted grunt and shoves James's arm off. "An Honorary Marauder? You can't be serious," he mutters, raising his eyes skyward in exasperation. As if Hogwarts needs any _more_ of those rule-breaking troublemakers. Merlin.

James smirks. "I think you're getting me confused with one of my accomplices, Clarke. I'm _James,_ not Sirius. Speaking of dear old Padfoot though, he's really looking forward to detention tonight, Blair."

Vivian glares at him and sneers, "He's insane."

James nods in agreement and smiles happily. "His insanity is one of his charms, I'm afraid." Then, before Vivian can respond, he turns his attention to the red-head that he happens to be in love with and exclaims, "And how fares my Lilyflower on this fine day?"

Vivian watches with a baleful glower as he begins his usual ritual of tripping over himself to gain Evans' attention, and snorts. As Lily systematically rejects him and calls the meeting to order in the same sentence, Vivian laments, "When did my life get consumed by those idiots?"

Gavin shrugs. "I've already told you _my_ theory."

She once more turns her glower onto him and mutters, "Sirius Black is _not_ in love with me. He doesn't even know what love is."

"I didn't say he was going about it the right way," is Gavin's response to this, which is probably the most diplomatic underestimation of Sirius's approach to love as could be said.

But nothing more can be mentioned on the topic (thankfully), because apparently James Potter has decided that his appointment as Head Boy matters more to him than everyone had previously believed. True to his word before Christmas break, he now seems to be of the mind that stepping up and accepting more duties is only right, and so when he starts passing out the papers that Lily had been organizing some minutes before, he's quick to boast how he had come up with the ideas all on his own.

"Did you threaten him into this or something?" Vivian murmurs to Gavin as she glances down at the surprisingly put-together thoughts. When she looks over at him, though, it's clear that Gavin is as surprised as she is.

"I haven't had the chance to talk to him yet," he says, eyebrows raised. He appears vaguely impressed, which is probably a sign that the apocalypse is here. Gavin Clarke has never been _impressed_ with James Potter in his life.

Vivian narrows her eyes at Potter, thinks back to the recent run-ins she's had with him and his idiotic friends, and mutters, "He's up to something."

But what it is, exactly, that James is up to, well…

Under the dishonorable code of Maraudership, he is not inclined to tell.

* * *

"I don't know why you think this is a good idea," Lily scorns an hour later, after the prefect meeting is over and everyone has taken their leave. "It's clear that Vivian hates him as much as ever, and you know what? I can't entirely blame her for it. He's only got himself to blame."

James, who had of course remained behind so as to speak to Lily about their deal, shakes his head. "Untrue," he announces, then catches sight of Lily's raised eyebrow and hedges, "Okay, well yeah, he definitely hasn't done himself any favors over the years with his pranks and all, but I don't think Blair hates him as much as she wants everyone to think."

The _he_ that they're speaking of is, naturally, Sirius Black, who is the only reason that James Potter and Lily Evans are having such a civil conversation to begin with.

"It's not just the _pranks,_ Potter. It's the name-calling and the insults and everything else he's done," comes Lily's exasperated response. "What woman in her right mind would agree to give someone like _that_ a chance?"

"Oi, that _someone_ happens to be my best mate!" James defends.

Lily rolls her eyes. "All I'm saying is that this whole plan of yours is destined to fail. You can't make someone fall in love overnight."

James pauses, tilts his head, and says, "Well actually – "

"Absolutely not!" Lily interrupts, knowing exactly what he's about to say. "Love potions are cheating. Not to mention _completely_ abhorrent."

James pouts, thinking of the long month ahead, and mumbles, "Fine. No love potions. What's the plan, then?"

Lily opens her mouth, pauses, and then hesitantly says, "Well…talking to them, I suppose."

James stares at her for all of three seconds before bursting into laughter. Lily doesn't entirely appreciate it.

"What's so wrong with that plan?" she demands, crossing her arms and wondering (not for the last time) why she had ever agreed to this in the first place.

James dramatically wipes a tear from his eye. "What's _wrong_ with it? Everything! I mean, what d'you think I've been doing this whole time, anyway? The finer point of Sirius's personality is that he doesn't listen to reason, that's why we're friends!"

Lily huffs at him. "Well it's a better idea than anything _you've_ come up with."

"I disagree. Locking them in a broom cupboard would definitely work," James returns. Then, waving his hand, he shrugs, "But the fact is, they're already going to be spending every evening for the next month together, so our job is to just…guide them along, yeah?" He smiles, and Lily continues looking quite skeptical. "I propose that we split up. I take Sirius and you take Vivian."

Lily frowns. "I'm not even _friends_ with Vivian. It would be weird to suddenly start asking her about her love life."

James rubs his jaw and contemplatively responds, "Well don't ask her about her love life then." When Lily casts him a confused glance, he clarifies, "Ask her about how much she _hates_ Sirius, and then I'm sure we'll get somewhere. If I've learned anything about girls, it's that they're backwar – er, I mean – I'm counting you, Lilyflower," with a bashful grin.

Lily, thoroughly unimpressed, narrows her eyes at him and mutters, "And _I'm _counting on this whole thing failing spectacularly and being free of you for the rest of my life."

James just laughs hesitantly and watches her storm off with a grimace.

* * *

Anyone who has ever sat through one of Argus Filch's detentions should consider themselves very lucky, because the majority of the time, the sort of work that he assigns rule-breakers does not require chairs.

"This is going to take us all night!" Sirius complains when the caretaker doles out their torture for the evening.

Filch looks absolutely delighted with Sirius's exclamation. His mouth stretches into a smile that reminds Vivian of the gargoyle statues near the astronomy tower, and throatily responds, "It may just!" in a voice that sounds far too pleased to be in any way sympathetic.

It isn't the promise of another sleepless night that truly rankles Vivian, though. Neither is her ire induced by the gleeful way Filch apprehends their wands. No, what really makes her angry is the fact that _she_ has to clean up _Sirius Black's_ mess.

The corridor that had witnessed the 'spectacular' prank of last night is in shambles. Truly, there is no better word to describe the disarray before her. The night before, in the thick of it all, when the fireworks were blaring through the air, she had been too distracted by the hilarious sight of Sirius tripping his way through the corridor to really see the chaos unfurling in the wake of it. Now, as she stands at the top of the hallway and peers down the length of it with broom and dust bucket in hand, she realizes that she had been entirely too quick to laugh.

This really _is_ going to take all night. The dozens of spent dungbombs and fireworks littering the floor will be easy enough to sweep away, but the soot marks on the ceiling? The charred tapestries? The broken pieces of flagstone that the Rochester Roman Candle had knocked out of place? With magic, she could straighten everything up in seconds. As it is, though, all she has is a bucket of muggle cleaning supplies and the school's resident dumbass.

"I can't believe this," Sirius grumbles, even though _he_ was the one who made the mess in the first place.

Vivian's mouth tightens. She considers maintaining her silence, but to be frank, she's far too annoyed to even try, and sneers, _"You_ were the one who thought it was a good idea to set a roman candle off in the middle of the school."

Sirius frowns at her and mumbles, "I told you, my reasons were innocent enough."

"Your reasons are never innocent," she snaps back, and stomps forward to sweep some of the dungbombs over to the side of the hallway, intent on gathering them all into a pile.

Sirius sighs and walks forward to help, only to have Vivian send a glare his way and point to the soot marks on the walls. "You can start scrubbing."

"I'd rather not," Sirius sighs.

"Just do it," Vivian snarls.

To say that she is angry with him would be a gross understatement. Vivian doesn't have time to babysit him like this. She doesn't have time to listen to him whine. She _should_ be working on her task, not idling away in detentions that she doesn't even deserve.

This is all _his_ fault, and she's never hated him more.

Well that's not entirely true, actually. Yes, she's annoyed, and frustrated that her time isn't being spent wisely, and upset because she hasn't properly slept these last two nights – and a great many other things, too – but hatred is too encompassing a word to describe what Vivian feels as the evening goes on. In fact, by the time the first hour passes, she finds that she's more confused than anything else. She's known Sirius Black for a long time, well before she had even started her first year at Hogwarts. She knows how temperamental he is and how mercurial is emotions can be. Given the circumstances of their laborious task, he is acting surprisingly calm.

They fall into a strange silence as they put the corridor back in order. Sirius, after finishing with the soot marks on the walls, now turns his attention to the ceiling while Vivian sweeps the corridor from top to bottom. It isn't until she's finished with that task and is taking out the mop that Sirius says anything at all.

"How're the wedding plans?" is the question that comes tumbling from his lips. It only then occurs to him that perhaps he shouldn't say anything too caustic when he's standing on a stepladder near a girl who probably wouldn't think twice about toppling it over. Alas, though, the words have already been brought forth, and he can't take them back now.

Vivian, who had been rather enjoying the quiet, turns her head to spear him a sharp look. Sirius can't see the look because his back is turned towards her, but he'd be damned if he said he didn't feel it burning holes into his skin. She does have quite an impressive glower, after all.

"I'm not marrying him," comes her staunch reply, but she says nothing else and Sirius is too surprised that she had responded at all to prompt her for several moments.

He pauses in his scrubbing and glances over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised. In a careful voice, he says, "I didn't realize you were given the choice. That's not usually how these things work."

He would know. Besides the fact that he had grown up in the very society that Vivian is a part of, he had been betrothed once too. They both had.

Vivian scoffs beneath her breath. The mop hits the floor with a little more force than is strictly necessary. "Not that it's any of _your_ business, but I refuse to be bought and sold like some object in a shop. Mulciber is just too thick to realize that it's never going to happen, even though I've told him a _million_ times – " she abruptly stops talking, most likely realizing that she's complaining a bit too vocally and that Sirius Black doesn't need to know anything about her life.

Her tirade is probably due to the simple fact that she doesn't really have anyone to talk to about these sorts of things. Narcissa, Morrigan, and Rosalind might grouse once in a while about their futures, but they would never go against their parents' wishes. If Vivian were to claim that she is not going to marry Adrian despite the marriage contract already being drafted, they would probably have heart attacks. Everyone in Slytherin house would be shocked at such a move, in fact. Even Regulus, who has made it clear enough that he would prefer her not to have anything to do with Mulciber for the rest of her life. To her peers, there is a strict way of presenting oneself to society, and outright rejecting an arranged marriage goes directly against that.

As for those friends she has made outside of Slytherin house, few as they are, well. Gavin wouldn't understand her plight. He would tell her that of course she shouldn't marry Mulciber just because she was told she had to. While that perception is one that she absolutely shares, it is lacking the _other_ point of view, and failing to take account of the many consequences that she will receive for such an action. The fact that Gavin is no Slytherin is something she happens to appreciate, but in this instance, he would be of little help for that very same reason.

She hadn't realized how much this topic has been bothering her until now, as she stands in the hallway in front of _Sirius Black_ and wrangles down the words that want to come pouring from her lips. Merlin, she must be going mental if she thinks that _he'd_ make a good listener.

But, as she's about to discover, he actually does. He was raised in the elite pureblood world, but has shifted to one far less stringent in its rules of decorum. He has the two perspectives that no one else seems to possess.

"He isn't going to take that well," Sirius points out. "It's a matter of pride for him, now. A challenge."

Vivian skewers him with another of her looks and, insulted, repeats, "You're saying that I'm a challenge to win, like some prize?"

Sirius sends her a look, too, and responds, "Or to lose, and we both know he doesn't like losing."

She wants to argue, but honestly, she doesn't have much to say in response to that. Sirius does make a point, after all. Not just about Mulciber in general, but about the idea of her being in such a position.

"That's how guys are," Sirius adds after a beat of silence. He returns to his scrubbing and says, "If you tell them no, they automatically think that you're asking them to change your mind."

Vivian frowns at his back and scoffs, "Don't act like you've never done that yourself before."

He actually looks a bit offended when she says that, and turns to face her with an insulted expression blazing over his face. "I haven't!" he defends crossly. She raises an unbelieving eyebrow at him, which prompts him to add, "Unlike Mulciber, I'm too charming and good looking to resort to those measures. If anything, girls try to change _my_ mind."

Vivian is so obviously unimpressed with this that she scornfully turns back to her mop and mutters, "Please. I doubt you've ever said 'no' to anyone."

Sirius, still offended (though slightly less so at this point), raises a finger and announces, "I have, actually. I've said no to any Slytherin who has ever propositioned me. And also there was Emma Hearthright because she's got those snaggly teeth, and Isabelle Greer – I don't think I need to explain _that_ one, and – "

"You really don't need to list everyone you've ever rejected, Black," Vivian drawls, cutting him off.

He sniffs, and continue on as if she hadn't spoken. "Did saying 'no' stop those girls from chasing me?" Then, pausing, Sirius hedges, "Well yeah, it did actually, because girls aren't as competitive as most blokes by nature – look, point is, I've got standards just like everyone else."

Vivian sneers, "I don't see how any of this helps me."

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say, because Sirius immediately turns on the ladder to peer down at her, raises an eyebrow, and inquires, "I didn't think you _wanted_ my help."

Memories of that day on the Quidditch pitch slam into Vivian's head. Along with them comes his wayward offer to assist her by speaking to Dumbledore on her behalf, and Vivian glowers at him petulantly.

"I don't," she all but growls, and returns to the mop.

Sirius makes a sound in the back of his throat and mumbles something beneath his breath, but doesn't say anything more for a good long while, and neither does she. Silence falls down upon them again, broken only by the sound of her mop hitting the floor and his brush scrubbing the soot from the ceiling. And so it remains, for many minutes, and they fall into a silence that might have been described as comfortable, if it wasn't for the way Vivian's heart keeps pounding in her chest.

She doesn't know why, but then perhaps it's just one of those frustrating side-effects that seem to sprout up whenever she's around him, and realizes that he isn't quite as insufferable as he when he's surrounded by his fellow Gryffindors and he thinks he has something to prove. Yes, that must be it. He's much more agreeable when he's not boasting about some stupid prank or trying to impress one of his classmates during a lecture. Behind the jokes and the clowning around, he's not nearly as annoying.

She's still not sure why that would explain her breathlessness, though. Maybe the reason for _that_ is simply that she rarely ever finds herself alone with him like this – just the two of them, working in silence, without anyone nearby to witness it…

"Besides," Vivian blurts, suddenly uncomfortable with the notion of being _so_ alone with him, "Dumbledore wouldn't be able to help me anyway. He doesn't have any influence in the pureblood community."

Sirius isn't expecting her to speak again, lest not about his offer of help. He pauses to look at her, mulling over her words for a long moment. He seems to realize that his response requires some degree of thoughtfulness – a degree in which Vivian had doubted him to even possess. But he surprises her now, when he says in a more solemn voice, "If you went to him for help, he wouldn't _need_ to have any influence."

There's no trace of judgement in his voice when he says this, which quite honestly makes Vivian feel even _more_ uncomfortable. It seems as if they are treading waters that they have never tread before, as if some invisible barrier that has always existed between them has suddenly, quietly, been taken down. She tilts her head up to catch his eye, wanting to know the expression that blazes over his face – to see if perhaps there is judgement there after all – but Sirius is staring at her with that careful sort of patience, as if he's merely waiting for her to come to the same conclusion as he has.

When she doesn't, he sighs, and begins to clamor down from the ladder. She watches him closely as he does, almost wanting to tell him to stay right where he is, because it's easier to talk about this when there's more distance between them and when she can pretend that, suspended on the ladder as he is, Sirius Black isn't even there at all.

But he is. He's here and it's impossible to ignore his presence. She's always known that he is hard to ignore – his boisterous charm catches everyone's attention whether they want it to or not – but it has never seemed quite so encompassing before. He tosses the scrub brush back into the bucket at the foot of the ladder and crosses his arms over his chest, studying Vivian as if he's never seen her before this moment in time.

In a way, she feels the same. The casually rolled up sleeves and rumpled uniform is the same. The mussed up hair that still somehow manages to fall perfectly despite the work they've been doing this past hour looks familiar enough. Everything about Sirius Black is just as she's always known it to be, except for one thing.

His eyes are (dare she even think it?) soft.

His voice is, too, when he says, "Dumbledore doesn't need any influence. He would just take you out of that society completely. He could help you find a safe house. You could live a normal life. Get a normal job. Marry the bloke you actually fancy."

At this, Vivian laughs a little, and yes, it's mostly scornful because she doesn't believe that it would be that easy, but – it's also incredulous because he makes it sound so…_wonderful_.

Perhaps Sirius catches onto that hint of wonder, because he takes a careful step towards her and murmurs, "You could have the life you've always wanted."

But it's here that Vivian flounders, because she doesn't know what she wants. She's been groomed to marry an elite member of her own society, to become a wife and a mother foremost, and to put her own desires to the side where they ought to belong. She has her hobbies and her interests, but she's never actually thought about what she would do if she was allowed to fully explore them.

"…I don't know what sort of life I want," she tells him with a downward turn on her mouth. Later on, after this detention is over and she's wrapped up in Slytherin green bedsheets, she'll scoff at herself for ever having admitted such a thing to Sirius Black. But right now, standing before him as he watches her softly, the words come pouring from her lips before she gives them any thought at all. That it's strangely easy to speak of such things to him should surprise her for the principle of it all, but he seems to understand. There is discernment in his eyes as he takes her in, and on his face as he hears her words, because he does know what she's talking about. He is the firstborn son of the Great and Noble House of Black, and he knows better than anyone the sort of pressures that accompanies such a title.

With a small smile, Sirius shrugs, and calmly replies, "I guess that's the fun part. Figuring out what path _you_ want to take."

Not her parents, not her classmates, not her teachers or her fellow purebloods_. Her._

Vivian stares at him, and he stares back, and then she slowly asks, "And have you figured it out yet?" because for some reason, she is truly curious.

He shrugs again and rocks back on his heels, breaking their stare to instead look up at the soot marks on the ceiling. "I dunno. I think, if it came down to it, I want to be an Auror."

At this, Vivian snorts and responds, "Why does that not surprise me?" He raises an eyebrow at her and she mirrors the expression. "It's so…_Gryffindor,"_ she extrapolates.

A part of her fully expects him to get annoyed with her for saying this, or to immediately defend himself or some such thing, but instead, Sirius lets out a barking laugh and grins, "I wonder what a Slytherin type job would be…mmm a ministry official, that way you'd be able to lord over everyone and impose your own rules?"

She immediately rolls her eyes at him and resumes her mopping. "That's not funny," comes her response, but her mouth curls up just slightly and gives her away.

"Ah, or you could have a shop in Knockturn Alley. That's very Slytherin," he adds, wanting her to smile more.

If she does, she's quick to press it down.

"I can picture you selling all sorts of illegal contraband," he jokingly instigates, though not meanly. His voice is light and amused, seconds away from chuckling. "Or – maybe a bookshop," he says after a moment more, in a slightly more serious tone.

Vivian pauses, and looks up. Their eyes lock once more. The sincerity blazing through his gaze makes her straighten her back and study him more closely.

"…Why did you rig this hallway with all of those fireworks and dungbombs?" she finally wonders, propping the mop up and leaning against it slightly.

Sirius pauses, looks down, and clears his throat. "I've already told you why," he mutters, and then turns back to the bucket and scrub brush to avoid giving her a better answer.

Vivian raises an eyebrow at his halfhearted response and says, "You said your reasons were innocent. You never said what those reasons were. I think I deserve to know why you've wrangled me into serving a month's worth of detentions."

_When I've got more important things to do,_ she almost adds, but doesn't, because she'd rather not get into a discussion about her task right now.

Sirius glances at her, appearing almost frustrated. He looks like he'd rather not say anything at all, but when he sees the resolved expression on her face, he must know that keeping his silence isn't going to be easy. Vivian Blair is too stubborn for that; too determined to have her way.

"I _did_ tell you my reason. On the Quidditch pitch last week," he mutters, and grasps the ladder to shift it a little to the left, so as to reach more soot stains.

This response is circular enough to make her pause for a moment to consider what he's referring to, but it doesn't take her very long to connect the dots. After all, _those words_ have been lurking in the back of her mind ever since, much to her own dismay.

"You mean when you said – " she begins.

"I like you," he finishes, quite unapologetically, then falters in the wake of such staunch words and clears his throat awkwardly once more.

Vivian stares at him yet again, and falls silent.

"…You don't believe me, then?" Sirius wonders, sounding a bit too lighthearted to be truly genuine. He busies himself with ensuring that the ladder is properly aligned with the next bout of soot marks that needs to be scrubbed away, and doesn't look at her.

Vivian snorts, "Why would I? You're Sirius Black."

He pauses, stares at the soot marks for one long moment, and then quietly turns to face her. He returns, "And you're Vivian Blair." And he pauses again for a beat of a second before lifting his chin and saying, "You're too proud for your own good sometimes, and you make me crazy because you're the most stubborn person I know. You never apologize but that's…well, that's why I like you. You're not a push-over."

Vivian is…well, shocked. Her lips part in surprise, and this time, when she stares at him, it's because she has no idea what to say in response.

"You really _do_ need to be tossed into St. Mungo's crazy ward," she finally manages.

Sirius grins at her and chuckles, "Yeah, I reckon I _must_ be pretty crazy to like someone like you, Godric."

And – this time, Vivian just rolls her eyes and tells him to shove off, but her words come out just a little too breathlessly to sound truly angry, and Sirius just smiles as he turns his attention back to the ladder.


	42. Indictum sit

**Chapter Forty Two | Indictum sit**

**[Leave it unsaid]**

Time is something that Vivian has little of, these days. With classes taking up the entirety of the morning and afternoon, and detentions stealing what time she has in the evenings, she makes use of every spare moment in between, throwing herself into her research in hopes of creating her spell. So far, she hasn't had much success. Magic is temperamental and difficult to focus without the proper words and wand movements, which need to align perfectly if one wants to concentrate the spell into a specific outcome. This isn't the problem in itself. The main issue holding her back is the simple fact that she doesn't have anything to test the spell on, and therefore has little way of knowing whether her attempts thus far will actually give her the end result that she's searching for.

She's taken to cloistering herself in the library between classes, bunkering down in an unused aisle where no one will disturb her. A stack of books teeters on the table in front of her. Most of them are opened to a specific passage or chapter that she had thought might be useful, but the brunt of her attention is on one book in particular.

'_Advanced Latin for the Journeyman Linguist'_ sits propped up in her lap. Despite the rather boring, difficult to follow nature of the book, Vivian all but devours it, eyes trained to the ancient pages as she jots down notes onto a spare roll of parchment. She has endeavored first to focus on the wording of the spell, and has several ideas written down already which will need further consideration.

It is difficult to concentrate, though. Despite the quiet aisle that she's claimed, the sounds of other students grate on her nerves. Not only that, but her mind seems to be everywhere at once, these days. Whenever she begins to focus on her reading, her thoughts drift off and away, to avenues better left alone.

Agonized screams, the scent of firewhiskey, Mulciber's eyes that seem to follow her wherever she goes – Sirius's voice…

"…_You don't believe me, then?"_

It's dreadful, and she's growing more and more annoyed at her failure to pay attention. Who knows how much time she has left to complete this spell? She wasn't given a deadline, but she can't imagine that the Dark Lord is a patient man. Adrian especially enjoys reminding her of that.

"_Better get a move on, Blair. The Dark Lord doesn't extend mercy to those who fail to do his bidding."_

She clenches her jaw and flips the page of her book too firmly. Worst of all is that she also can't stop thinking about everything _else_. Of what Sirius had said that night in detention, how Dumbledore would simply take her out of her current life and displace her into a new one, where she would have all the freedom she's ever wanted. Would it really be that easy? Surely, there would be consequences that would threaten whatever stability she would be able to achieve.

She frowns and rubs her forehead, exhausted with both her endless thoughts as well as her lack of sleep these past few nights. With the detentions holding up her time in the evenings, she's taken to staying up late into the night trying to finish all of her assignments as well as work more on this spell. She'd hardly gotten more than four hours of sleep last night, and it seems that it's becoming a new routine. To be honest, though, she's almost grateful for the distraction. Ever since Hogsmeade, she's had nightmares.

They weren't so bad, at first, but that is sometimes the nature of such things. What was initially restless sleep has progressed into dreams that make her reject sleep altogether, and it's only when she can't avoid nodding off that she actually allows sleep to come at all.

She's a mess, but at least no one seems to have noticed it, not even her own dormmates, who believe that she's merely stressed out because her nightly detentions restrict her from getting all of her homework done in a timely manner. She'd never thought she'd ever say this, but she's grateful that her mother had taught her all of those beauty spells back when her puberty kicked in, because she's been using them nearly every morning these days to combat her bruised, tired eyes and pallid skin.

Her mood, too, has taken a downward turn. She can't claim to be an optimistic sort of person, but with the weight of this task on her shoulders and the confusing new elements of her personal life to deal with, she's been more snappish than usual. It's enough to keep Mulciber and his friends at bay, and most of her housemates leave her be during classes and such, but apparently it isn't enough to keep the truly optimistic members of society away from her.

Lily Evans proves that when she suddenly appears in Vivian's quiet aisle and sends her a friendly smile. Vivian doesn't smile back, nor does she attempt to move any of her things when Lily approaches her table.

"Vivian," she greets pleasantly, pushing her red mane of hair over her shoulder and blinking down at the many opened books that span across Vivian's table. "You seem…busy," she notes, and pulls out a chair despite the limited amount of workspace.

Vivian sends her a suspicious look and nudges her Latin book closer to her body. It's hardly discriminatory to read a book on language, but she still doesn't like the notion of Lily knowing what has so occupied her. Unfortunately, she can't as easily close any of the other books without appearing suspicious herself, so she merely resorts to waiting for Evans to leave.

She doesn't. Vivian's puckered, unfriendly silence might have frightened off the majority of the student body, but Gryffindors are annoyingly tenacious. Lily looks slightly awkward as she clears her throat and shifts beneath Vivian's baleful eyes, but she doesn't move.

"_Curses of the Seventeenth Century'?"_ Lily reads, glancing at the topmost book of the stack on the corner of the table, unopened for now. She raises an eyebrow, her gaze drifting down to read some of the other titles. She seems to find Vivian's choice of reading a bit grim.

'_Dark Creatures of the Night'_

'_The Spellman's Vocabulary and Latin Translations'_

'_Dark Duelcraft'_

'_Inferi: An Application of Creation and Preservation'_

Lily looks somewhat unnerved.

"Did you want something?" Vivian drawls, raising an eyebrow. Her hopes that her questionable reading material might scare Lily off doesn't come to fruition, though. Gryffindors are frustratingly brave when they have no right to be.

Lily sets her shoulders back and takes it upon herself to push the stack of books out of her way. As she pulls out what appears to be the Charms homework that Flitwick had assigned that morning, she replies, "Not particularly. It's just that the library is a bit noisy today and this is a nice, quiet table. You don't mind if I join you, do you?"

From the way Lily starts leafing through her Charms textbook, it's clear that Vivian's opinion doesn't matter either way. Vivian is, admittedly, quite annoyed by this. Her bad mood has only been growing since the night before, when she'd returned to the Slytherin common room and had realized just how friendly Sirius and her and been, and how she had fallen right into that trap without thought. It doesn't matter that whenever she recalls the look he'd sent her way, she feels the lightest flutter in her chest; or that his jokes even now make her feel the slightest need to smile; or that some part of her actually believes that perhaps he _does_ like her, in some way, at least enough to actually want to help her. Even so, in the light of day, she can't help but think that the whole thing had been a mistake. This is Sirius Black, after all. He's a Gryffindor through and through, but he's got a Slytherin heart, and nothing he does is ever without reason. When it all comes down to it, she doesn't trust him enough to believe that his selflessness is fully genuine, and that he doesn't want something from her in return.

"I didn't miss an assignment, did I?" Lily suddenly wonders, eyes drifting back to Vivian's stack of books. "Besides the patronus work, did Professor Anderson assign us anything else?"

Considering that this is Lily Evans, who takes her classes very seriously, it seems like an innocent enough inquiry. Still, Vivian doesn't much appreciate the question and doesn't even bother responding, instead just focusing on her book of Advanced Latin and ignoring Lily's presence entirely.

But – _Gryffindors._ They're tenacious.

"So…how'd your detention go last night?" Lily awkwardly asks, grimacing to herself as she ducks her head and pretends to start reading her Charms book.

Vivian purses her mouth and holds back an annoyed sigh.

"It was a detention. How do you _think_ it went?" Vivian wonders sarcastically.

"Er – right," Lily responds, and falls silent again. For several minutes, at least. It's only when Vivian is starting to focus on her book once more that Lily breaks her concentration to say, "Sirius seemed like he was in a good mood after he got back to the common room."

Unlike her other, awkward statements, these words are delivered in a more casual manner, almost point-blank in their bluntness. They certainly don't have a casual effect on Vivian, though.

Pausing, Vivian stares at her Latin book and tightens her grasp of it. "Why should I care?" she demands, but inwardly wonders at Lily's words, and whether they are true or not. Or, more precisely, on whether she _wants_ them to be true.

"Well it's just that your relationship has never been smooth, so I was curious if he did something last night…" Lily slowly explains, and glances up at Vivian's expression. When she sees the faintest touch of confusion in her eyes, she adds, "A prank or something, maybe? He looked a bit smug."

Vivian immediately scoffs. "He's insane, Evans. He practically _lives_ for detentions. I doubt I had anything to do with it."

Even as she says the words, though, they seem like a stretch.

Lily thinks so too, but before she can say anything else, Vivian snaps, "If you came to the library to chat, why don't you move to someone _else's_ table?"

The demand makes Lily fall silent, looking awkward once more. Vivian takes great pride in this and turns back to her book. The only problem is that – well, Lily is a Gryffindor. Frustrating. Tenacious. _Annoying_.

"It's just weird. I think he actually really likes you, Vivian. In fact I think he might be really – "

"_I'm trying to work,"_ Vivian deadpans, cutting Lily off unapologetically, and rather forcefully at that, because she has a feeling that she knows what Lily was about to say. Rather than listen to those words, Vivian abruptly stands up and throws her materials into her bookbag, intent on escaping this thoroughly annoying conversation before she well and truly loses it. She definitely doesn't want Pince to kick her out of the library. These books are important and she doesn't have very many places to properly research what she needs to know.

Lily, for her part, looks quite chagrined. "Vivian – " she begins, and stands up too.

Vivian, though, ignores her. With a flick of her wand, the opened books on her table close and lift up into the air, drifting back to their shelves. Then Vivian grabs her bag, heaves it over her shoulder, and hastens off before Lily can stop her.

Lily just sighs and sits back down, running a hand through her hair. Once again, she wonders what on earth she'd been thinking when she had agreed to help James.

As for Vivian, she can't get out of the library fast enough. She ends up snapping at several loitering students who are in her way, shouldering through their group unapologetically and glaring at them when one of their fellows tries to stop her. It is in this way that she moves through the castle, angry and annoyed to have had her peace broken by Lily. She follows the path that she usually takes down to the dungeons, thinking to perhaps find a small corner in the Slytherin common room to continue her research, but doesn't make it any further than the grand staircase when an idea comes to mind.

Hogwarts is an enormous castle, and while its student population is large, there are a number of hidden alcoves and unused classrooms which might make for an ideal place to sit down and study. These empty classrooms are off limits to students, but that certainly doesn't stop them from occasionally making use of them, mostly by snogging couples after curfew. As a prefect, Vivian has caught plenty of them over the course of the last few months, and she knows which classrooms are used more than others, and on which floors and such.

The third floor is too far away from every common room to be a proper meeting place, and what's more, it is not a place much frequented in the castle. For as long as she can recall, it's always been empty. The doors leading into the third floor are nearly always shut. One might think that this would make it an ideal place for a rendezvous, but most of the students are somewhat wary of the grating silence here, and of the fact that it hasn't been cleaned in what seems like decades. The eerie quiet keeps most people away.

Oh, there are a few classes on the third floor, but the classrooms that those few classes utilize are located nearer to the grand staircase. The further in you go, the darker and eerier it becomes, and the more obvious it is that Filch avoids the place as much as possible.

Vivian makes a face at the cobwebs and dust, and draws out her wand to summon some light. At first, she walks slowly down the corridors, wand lifted high above her head. The midday sun wafts into the space via the windows, but the emptiness makes it seem more oppressing and dark, and she steps carefully into the winding hallways with tentative uncertainty. Most of the classrooms are locked, but she makes quick work of that with a bit of magic, poking her head each one in her search for a good space. She wants a room without windows, so that when it is dark and she needs more light, it won't be detected from the grounds. Ideally, it would also be emptied of desks and chairs, which would only get in her way when practicing her spellwork and wand movements. The less destructive she is, the less chances of getting caught out of bounds.

She finds something close to what she's looking for some corridors into the third floor, far enough away from the grand staircase to be fairly discreet while, at the same time, being close enough to make a quick escape in case Filch or his scraggly cat realizes that she's there. It's a small classroom without windows, removed of desks save for a few that are pushed back against the far wall, unused and nearly falling apart in disrepair. One of the chairs is in decent condition, though, and she figures that she can always find a sturdier desk for her books and research from one of the other classrooms. The rafters are high and her footsteps echo somewhat as she steps inside, observing the thick dust that layers over every surface. There is a musty scent of disuse that perforates the space. It's clear that no one has stepped foot inside this room for a long time.

Hands on her hips, Vivian surveys the area with a hum. Why hadn't she thought of this before? This is the perfect spot to work on her task, without worrying about Mulciber leering over her shoulder and asking how far she's come, or reminding her that she has limited time. No one will hear her trying to work out the spell, because no one ever ventures this deep into the third floor. With a little bit of magic, she'll be able to clean this place up enough to utilize it properly, and because she's a prefect, it won't be overly suspicious if she's caught walking to and from the third floor after hours.

Best of all, there are no annoying Gryffindors.

She snorts at the thought and lifts her wand to _scourgify_ the nearby chair before taking a seat and dropping her bag to the floor. She sits there for a long moment, gazing up into the rafters of the eerily quiet classroom before reaching down to pull out _'Advanced Latin for the Journeyman Linguist'._

Then, in the blissful silence, she begins to read.

* * *

No one seems to have noticed Vivian's afternoon absence, though this doesn't surprise her. She's always preferred being alone, so when she joins up with Morrigan, Narcissus, and Rosalind before dinner some hours later, they don't even bat an eye, nor do they think to ask her where she's been. There are other people, however, who do wonder.

"Vivian," Regulus greets when he sees her stepping into the Slytherin common room. The area is crowded with students, most of which appear to be third and fourth years, and so nobody cares to notice the careful expression on Regulus's face or the immediate way Vivian pauses, appearing as if she is considering turning on her heel and avoiding him altogether.

To say that she has mixed feelings about Regulus Black would be the understatement of the century. On the one hand, she appreciates his quiet demeanor and dry humor, and there is a part of her that melts beneath his perceptive grey eyes. On the other hand, though, all she can think about when she sees him is how eager he is to join the Dark Lord, and how disappointed he'd sounded when Bellatrix hadn't given him a task for which to prove himself to the cause. Maybe it is _both_ of those reasons which spark within Vivian a desire to avoid him. The more time she spends around Regulus, the more she likes him, and the more she realizes that he is quickly drifting beyond her reach.

"Where've you been?" she wonders, but isn't sure she wants to know. "You missed the prefect meeting last night."

Even as she asks the question, she steps around him, still warring with the desire to remove herself from his presence whilst at the same time wanting to stay put.

Regulus hesitates, and she knows then that wherever he was, it was most likely with Mulciber.

He follows her into the common room. "I could ask you the same thing. I've barely seen you at all since the Hogsmeade trip. You're always missing dinner these days – "

"I've been busy," is her only excuse, and heads towards her dorm. Regulus stops her, though, when he reaches out to take her arm and pull her to a stop.

"You need to eat, Vivian," he says with a frown. "I know you're stressed out because of your task, but – "

"Regulus – " she begins, cutting him off, but he seems quite adamant, and pulls her over to the corner of the common room before she can tell him to stop bothering her.

"No, listen to me, Vivian," he says, grey eyes flashing. "It's been two weeks since Hogsmeade. Please tell me you have a spell figured out, or – at least started."

She looks at him closely, raising an eyebrow. He seems worried, now that she properly studies the way his eyes lock with hers. There is no trace of such an emotion in his expression, but Vivian has started to realize that reading him isn't so very difficult. His eyes give him away.

She pauses, and then murmurs, "I'm working on it. I've got plenty of time."

Regulus furrows his brow, though, and she suddenly wonders if that's actually true.

"Oh come on. It's only been two weeks – "

"You have until the end of April," he tells her.

Vivian stares at him. April? But that's only three months away! Normally, it would be plenty of time to create a spell – she's done it in days, before – but never one so important. There are things to do before she can present it to the Dark Lord. Steps to take, to make certain that it actually works. And besides all of that, she feels as if she still has no idea what Latin words she needs or how she has to string it all together, and she hasn't even gotten started on the wand movements yet –

"I thought I had until graduation," she says.

Regulus purses his mouth. "Bellatrix sent a letter this morning. You skipped breakfast, so Mulciber took the liberty of reading it."

Vivian narrows her eyes at this. "He read my letter?"

Regulus, seeing the murderous glance that Vivian shoots towards the boy's dormitories, clenches his hands down around her shoulders and draws her further into the corner lest she storm away to enact revenge.

"That's another thing we need to talk about," he says lowly. "Your marriage."

He can see that, the moment the words leave his lips, Vivian's anger seems to increase tenfold. The reason for this is apparent. She is not silent on her feelings towards the matter.

With a glower, she hisses, "I don't want to talk about Adrian Mulciber. Let's talk about you, instead."

He doesn't seem to expect this, and raises an eyebrow at her. "What about me?" he wonders, seemingly caught off guard.

Vivian scoffs. "Are you really going to join Him, when you know full well what it's going to cost you? I thought you were smarter than that, Regulus."

He frowns at her and glances around the common room, not quite liking the fact that she's bringing this up in such a crowded place. But no one even notices them, and the room is too loud with chatter for anyone else to overhear her words – or his, when he mutters, "I've already told you, I agree with his views and I – "

"You're going to become a murderer and a criminal, just because you think purebloods are supreme to every other witch and wizard out there," she finishes, to his annoyance.

"You think the same," he retorts, his voice raising just so. It isn't enough to draw anyone's attention, though. The world outside of their corner overlooks their presence entirely, even when Vivian exclaims, "No I – "

And here, she pauses, as Regulus stares at her with a surprised expression. "Of course I do," she breathes, but it's halfhearted and he doesn't believe her.

Regulus stares at her for a long moment, in which she holds herself so still that it almost feels as if she's trying to become a statue – to press her emotions out of sight, to freeze herself over so that she gives nothing away – until at last, he releases a deep breath and raises a hand to run his fingers through his hair.

"Do you?" he asks, looking at her so closely that it seems as though all of her attempts at holding herself back have utterly failed, and he sees her for what, and who, she truly is. He doesn't seem to like what he sees, because he shakes his head at her and mutters, "You've changed, Vivian, and I not sure that it's for the better."

Then, giving her one last close look, Regulus turns and walks away, disappearing through the door of the common room and from her sight. And she doesn't like it, that look he'd sent her, but at the same time, she can't help but think that perhaps she _has_ changed. Perhaps she _is_ different, and maybe it _isn't_ for the better. But then she thinks about Gavin, and how much she appreciates his friendship. She thinks about Mauve, and how her supposed lesser blood doesn't change the fact that she's rather fun to be around. She even thinks about Sirius, though she wouldn't ever admit it, and how his blood traitor status doesn't necessarily mean that he doesn't possess _some_ half-decent qualities.

Still, Regulus's judgmental eyes aren't easy to forget, even when she heads down to dinner with Morrigan later on, and keeps her gaze as far away from Regulus as she can. The memory of that look on his face is there behind her eyes whenever she blinks, and her thoughts are full of his words even when she drags herself to Filch's office after dinner to serve her next detention. She barely hears Filch's gleeful explanation of this evening's punishment because she's too busy thinking about Regulus.

It isn't until the other addition to her new evening routine makes a hasty arrival that Vivian's mind clears, only to be replaced with yet another confusing train of thoughts. Lately, being around Sirius Black has been making her head absolutely spin, and not necessarily in a good way. To say that she's confused about him would also be the understatement of the century, and tonight is no different. If anything, she becomes even _more_ confused.

"You want us to wash _all_ of these tapestries? By _hand?"_ Sirius repeats, when Filch happily informs them what their detention will entail. He's led them down to the Great Hall, now emptied of students. The House Elves must have come in to take all the tapestries down, for the room is filled with enormous mountains of fabric. Every house has their own banners, and there's also the Hogwart's insignia and crest as well. On top of those, Filch must have thought it was a superb idea to make them clean the banners and tapestries from the Quidditch pitch, too, because those are also forming their own mountains in the center of the hall.

"Well you ain't gonna use magic, now are you?" is all Filch says in return, before he leers triumphantly at them and takes his leave, shutting the doors loudly in his wake.

Despite Sirius's protestations, though, he doesn't seem all that annoyed with Filch's punishment. In fact – much to Vivian's incredulity – he actually starts whistling as he strolls over to where a large bin of water has been left for them, complete with tallow soap and several buckets and brushes.

"Are you going to make me do all the work, Godric?" he calls, glancing over his shoulder at her with a raised brow. Vivian sends him a suspicious glower and crosses her arms, thinking that perhaps she might, since he seems so happy to do it himself. After a moment, though, and several loud complaints from Sirius, she steps forward and pushes up her sleeves to join him.

Now, a few months ago, Vivian Blair would never have knelt down beside Sirius Black, nor would they have worked in silence without breaking out into a scathing argument or some such thing. To be fair, she still feels quite wary about approaching him now, and half suspects him to get water all over her just for the hell of it. He doesn't, though, and while she finds this somewhat strange, she also supposes that he can't be an immature arsehole every _single_ second of the day – that would be too exhausting even for _him. _So she kneels down several feet away from him and silently reaches for one of the tapestries, not saying a single word.

Like the night before, they both fall into silence. Unlike the night before, this silence is slightly less companionable. The main reason for this is because Vivian can't quite ignore him like she'd been able to last night, because he's too close to her and she's too aware of him – and her heart keeps beating too quickly, and once, when she accidentally reaches out for the soap, her fingers brush against his arm and her entire body seems to erupt into shivers.

If Vivian Blair wanted to be honest with herself, she would admit that she _may_ know the reason for this. But she won't be honest, because this is Sirius Black and she hates him, and she always has and she always will, and that will never change.

"So are you gonna tell me, or not?" Sirius says after about fifteen minutes pass them by.

Vivian sends a haughty look his way. "Tell you what?"

He doesn't bother looking at her at all, and just begins to wring out the tapestry. As the water collects into the large metal bin, he clarifies, "Your task."

And just like that, the non-companionable but not quite so awful silence drops away. Just those two words make Vivian clench her fingers around the tapestry that she's washing as her heart ricochets off to a new tune, just as fast as before but for different reasons.

She stares hard at the Hufflepuff banner in her hands and scowls, "I'm not sure what you mean."

Sirius snorts. He stands up to finish wringing the water from the tapestry, as it's too large to do otherwise, and drawls, "I was honest with _you_ last night," in a voice that tells her that she ought to be honest back.

Well.

"About that," Vivian says, not about to let that particular distraction go to waste. She certainly isn't going to tell him anything about her extracurriculars. As if he has any right to know. "When you said you like me, did you mean that you _like_ me, or that you just feel bad about being a complete arsehole to me since first year?" She pauses, and then adds, "Because to be honest, Black, the thought of you liking me in _that_ way is making me want to vomit."

Sirius turns to her with his mouth parted in frustrated surprise, and tosses the damp tapestry into a pile with the other ones. "I haven't been a complete arsehole to you. And don't lie, Godric. I know you think I'm gorgeous."

Vivian shoots him a look and responds, "As if. And yes, you have."

He narrows his eyes at her. "I have not. I mean, I might've taken things a bit too far sometimes, but so have you."

She sniffs, "Name one time I've ever crossed the line, then."

Now _this_ feels like familiar footing. She's almost relieved that they're arguing. The silence had felt wrong without insults flying back and forth.

He scoffs and grabs another tapestry. As he submerges it into the water and reaches for the soap, he says, "Okay. How about all the times you've called me a blood traitor?"

She starts wringing out the Hufflepuff banner and retaliates, "How about all the times you've called me a _bitch?"_

He glowers. "You put a snake in my dorm room back in fourth year."

"You've done much worse. Besides, the snake wouldn't have hurt you."

"It bit Peter and he had to go to the hospital wing because his mouth started foaming!"

"Well how was _I_ supposed to know that your idiotic friend would react that way?"

"You know what? I don't know why I'm trying to help you. You obviously haven't changed at all."

Vivian pauses upon hearing this. Her mouth opens to send back her retort, but it isn't vocalized. His words hit a little too close to home, and despite them not being an insult, Vivian feels rather offended by them.

"As if you're one to talk. You still have the mentality of a five year old," she shoots back angrily.

"Is that the only insult you've got?" he returns, wringing out the next tapestry with a vengeance.

"Why, does it annoy you to hear the truth?"

"I think that a part of you likes me, you just don't want to admit it."

"I don't like anything about you," she swiftly denies. Perhaps a little _too_ swiftly.

Sirius smirks, turning his head to eye her with a knowing look that she most certainly does not appreciate, because she absolutely does not like him in any way.

"You must like arguing with me, otherwise you would've stopped by now," he informs her airily, as if he's got her pegged. She doesn't much appreciate that, either.

With a scowl, Vivian stands up to hang the Hufflepuff banner on one of the racks that Filch had provided for them (which, so far, Sirius hasn't bothered to use). She reaches down to grab another tapestry and skewers Sirius with a baleful look. Sirius, obviously seeing said look, seems to think that it's a wonderful idea to do something that actually warrants being on the receiving end of it. Why else would he reach out and sweep his hand through the soapy water, sending a handful of it right into her face?

While Sirius Black is, occasionally, wise to the workings of the female race, there is another part of his personality that more often than not supersedes such wisdom. It is the part of him that makes him into a Marauder: a penchant for wreaking havoc and making mischief. It's also a part of him that, in this moment in time, Vivian loathes.

"I am literally going to murder you," she says through gritted teeth, and turns her head to glare at him so fitfully that Sirius actually pauses and feels the slightest smidgen of regret for having riled her up once again.

It doesn't last very long, though.

"Y-you look absolutely hilarious," Sirius stumbling a bit over his words because not only is he seconds away from being murdered, but he's also seconds away from bursting out into laughter.

That smidgen of regret that he had felt before, though? It comes back. Specifically when Vivian grabs one of the buckets and slings its contents into _his_ face.

For a moment, Sirius just kneels there on the ground in front of the tub, eyes closed as water drips from his hair into his face and soaks through his uniform shirt. Vivian, who had just been wrangling with the intense desire to kill him, is now overcome by an even more intense desire to laugh at the sight he makes. Especially when Sirius shakes out his hair, looking very much like a wet dog in the process.

Feeling quite proud, she smirks, _"That's_ how you start a water fight, Black. Take notes."

Sirius raises an eyebrow and stands up. "Oh, is that what we're doing?" He reaches for one of the other buckets, and Vivian freezes.

"Don't you dare – " she begins. She doesn't get to finish.

Sirius's smirk is downright smug when Vivian sends him a vengeful look. It isn't nearly as potent as her usual glares, though, which is probably because she's completely drenched from head to toe. Current circumstances don't exactly help her to achieve the glowering Slytherin countenance that she often favors.

"Did I say I was going to murder you? I meant wipe you from the face of the earth," she growls.

He can't help but snicker at the combination of her voice and her drenched appearance. "You started it," he shrugs, much to her disbelief.

"_You_ started it," she argues, and cringes because yes, she's very much aware that she sounds like a child. Even more annoyed by this, Vivian takes her bucket and dunks it into the tub of water, and Sirius immediately edges back.

What happens next will be remembered with varying degrees of both endearing warmth (some years from now), and embarrassment (tomorrow). For, when Vivian straightens up with an overflowing bucket, she fails to take into account the fact that the ground near the basin of water is currently a mess of twisting fabric that has yet to be washed. As she's lifting the bucket and turning to Sirius with the intent to enact her just revenge for the second time tonight, her ankle catches into one of the folds of fabric and she trips.

Now, if this incident had occurred months before, Sirius would have been in stitches with laughter. But, though his first reaction is humor, it doesn't last very long at all before it is replaced with worry. Vivian does end up falling rather hard on the ground, after all.

Within seconds, he's kneeling beside her and asking, "Are you okay? Vivian?"

His fingers are gentle when he tentatively reaches up to push her hair away from her face, which is set into a grimace.

"Did I just trip and fall on my face right in front of you?" she croaks, keeping her eyes firmly closed, as if she's hoping that perhaps this entire thing is just a dream. Sirius purses his mouth to avoid the amused smile that wants to appear.

He coughs back a laugh and soothes, "No, of course you didn't. It was much more graceful than that."

Vivian groans, and reaches up to cover her face with an arm.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sirius asks again, leaning over her as he tries to move her arm away from her face. His question is genuine enough, which seems to be the only reason as to why Vivian allows him to do so. Her eyes flutter open at last.

"I can't believe that just happened," she mutters, and frowns at him. "It was all your fault, of course."

The corner of Sirius's mouth tilts up just slightly, and he nods empathetically. "Of course," he agrees, though it sounds very much as if he's patronizing her. Not in a rude way, but rather in the sort of manner in which a parent might go along with a child for a time, knowing that they're just being young and silly. Vivian glowers at him for it, but cringes before she can turn it into a proper glare, and reaches up to rub her head.

"You _are_ hurt – let me see," he demands, and helps her into a sitting position. Her head hurts a bit too much for her to be stubborn. She does draw the line, though, when Sirius lays his hand against the back of her head as if he's searching for some kind of mortal injury.

Vivian bats his hand away and mutters, "I'm fine. It's just a bump. Now let me go."

Sirius, finally realizing just how close they are and just how strange it is that he's got his fingers practically buried in her hair, mumbles, "Er – right. Yeah," and pulls away. Then, clearing his throat again, he grabs the nearest tapestry and shoves it at her, cheeks flushing just so in the dim light of the Great Hall.

Vivian raises an eyebrow at him, confused. Until, of course, he reaches up to rub the back of his neck and explains, "Your shirt is…um…well, see-through."

That's about the time when Vivian recalls that Sirius had enacted his own revenge some minutes before her highly embarrassing (_"spectacular," _Sirius will one day recall) display, and she flushes so deeply that Sirius has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter in check. He knows for a fact that if he shows any sign of said laughter, she _will_ make good on her death threats.

Ah – that's also the time when Vivian realizes which tapestry Sirius had grabbed.

"Are you serious?" she deadpans, and clenches her fist into Gryffindor red.

Sirius tilts his head and wonders, "Do you really want me to answer that?"

She would have kicked him, then, if he was closer.

Despite his valiant efforts to keep his laughter at bay, he does snicker a bit at the expression she sends him in that moment. The glower would have been slightly more accomplished had it not been for the fact that Vivian is still blushing, and it only makes her look petulant rather than truly angry.

Sirius makes to stand up, and then reaches down to offer her a hand. For a moment, he thinks that she means to shun the offer (she is quite stubborn), and so he's surprised when Vivian grudgingly allows him to pull her up, still clutching the Gryffindor banner against her drenched white uniform shirt as if her life depends on it.

His mouth twitches upward. "You can wear my blazer, if you want," he suggests. Vivian immediately opens her mouth to tell him that there is no way in hell she's wearing something of his, but then he adds, "Or you can just wear the Gryffindor banner like a toga for the rest of the detention. Either way, I can't complain." He smirks crookedly, eyes rather smug.

Vivian takes a breath (she _so dearly_ wants to kick him) and glances around the mountain of tapestries. Sirius seems to know what she's looking for, because his crooked smirk becomes even wider when drawls, "Sorry, Godric. We've already washed all the Slytherin banners. Tough luck, that. I guess you could always wear Ravenclaw, if you're feeling desperate."

She glares at him. He smiles happily back.

"Blazer," she demands, and holds her hand out as if she's speaking to a dog.

Sirius sniffs and breezily responds, "Be polite."

She grits her teeth and hisses out a, "Please", which really doesn't sound very polite at all, but Sirius decides to take what he can get.

He's all but grinning when he goes to collect his blazer, which he had shrugged off at the start of the detention. When he hands it to her, he presents it with a dramatic flourish, taking a moment to buff the Gryffindor badge that is proudly sewn into the front.

Vivian glares at said badge before glaring at _him,_ and snaps, "Turn around."

The look he gives her almost mournful, but he does indeed turn around when her glare becomes slightly more severe. Trading the Gryffindor tapestry for an equally Gryffindor blazer is not what she would call a proper bargain, but at least she won't have to be afraid that it will fall or slip down for the rest of the detention, and she does grudgingly admit that she feels less ridiculous (though not much).

Sirius looks extremely pleased with himself when he sees her, though. His grin is nearly blinding, and he looks like he's seconds away from bursting into laughter. Thankfully, for his own sake, he refrains, but it is a feat of true willpower. Of course, he can't quite stop himself from quipping, "Now you look like a proper 'Godric'," which naturally makes Vivian tell him to do something that shan't be repeated, for it is quite rude (but definitely deserved).

By the time they finish up their detention and all the tapestries have been hung up to dry, two more hours have passed and Vivian, for one, is very much ready to return to familiar territory and remove herself from anything resembling her rival house. Sirius doesn't look like he cares overmuch to have his blazer returned to him, though. In a rare act of genteelness (of which Vivian will soon realize is actually not rare at all, only he doesn't often grace Slytherins with it), Sirius tells her to hold onto it.

"Your shirt is probably still damp," he shrugs, as if it is no big thing, lending something of his to Vivian Blair, Slytherin rival and enemy of six and a half years. She doesn't argue because her shirt _is_ still damp, and even though it's late enough where most of her housemates are probably in their dorms, she doesn't much like the thought of parading through the castle in a transparent shirt. She doesn't thank him, though, because she figures that it would probably resurrect his smug smile from before.

After Filch checks on their work and tells them that they can leave, they loiter for a moment outside the Great Hall. Something strange has happened tonight, and in the darkness of the corridors, it seems as if some hidden door has been opened that had, before, been tightly locked. It's an odd feeling, almost refreshing. Those strange side-effects that she has been adamantly ignoring aren't even bothering her now. She is suddenly bizarrely comfortable being near him, despite the fact that it's, well, _him._

"So…good night, I guess," Sirius says, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he peers at her in the dim light of the torches that blaze on either side of the doors to the Great Hall.

Vivian coughs. "Yeah. Good night."

If she's expecting him to turn and walk away, though, he doesn't. Instead, Sirius just keeps standing there, watching her quietly, his grey eyes a deep charcoal. It's fascinating, how many shades of grey exist where they hadn't before.

"You know, you've got a smudge of dirt on your cheek," he suddenly tells her. She raises her eyebrows and reaches up to rub at her face, only for him to smile that crooked smile and shuffle just a little bit closer. She freezes at his proximity, staring at him as he tentatively brushes his fingers over her cheekbone, just beneath her eye. His touch lingers there for a moment, before he slowly pulls back, fingertips skimming down her cheek just so before lifting up and away.

"There," he whispers, and she releases a shaky breath that she hadn't known she was holding, until the moment his eyes flicker up and lock with hers. When Sirius sends her that crooked smirk, she thinks that she finally sees why so many girls have lost their good senses upon being on the receiving end of it – and she thinks, also, that maybe she has too.

Of course, she regains every last ounce of it when Sirius sends her a wink, and as he strides off towards the grand staircase, calls back, "By the way, Blair, I _definitely_ like you in blue!"

Admittedly, it takes her a moment to come out of her daze. When she does, though, she glowers at his retreating back and shouts, "You are such a fucking pervert, Black!"

He just snickers, and decides not to mention that she hadn't actually had a smudge of dirt on her cheek after all.

When Vivian returns to the Slytherin common room some minutes later, her mind is spinning with thoughts of what had just happened, which is probably why she ends up storming through the room and throwing herself into the nearest chair she can find. It's well after curfew by the time the detention is over, and the common room is empty. At least, she thinks it's empty, otherwise she wouldn't bury her face in her hands and let out an exasperated, bewildered sigh. It is only after her loud entrance that she realizes she is not as alone as she'd thought.

"What are you _wearing?"_ Regulus wonders, sounding quite aghast as he eyes the Gryffindor badge looking so out of place on her person. His sudden presence makes Vivian let out a startled gasp. She jerks her head up, only to find that he's sitting over by the fire that burns green in the hearth. He's staring at her as if she's gone insane.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Vivian clears her throat and mutters, "Your brother let me borrow it after my shirt got wet."

She watches Regulus's mouth pull back. He mutters something beneath his breath that sounds quite scathing. She huffs and gets up from her chair to go join him on the couch, sitting down a little more gracefully than she had before.

"I'm not in a good mood," he tells her. The way he voices it sounds like a warning, but Vivian isn't always very good at taking such things to heart, and she just rolls her eyes.

"I'm not either," she returns, voice just as short as his.

Regulus glances at her with a frown. "I'm also still annoyed at you."

Vivian snorts. "If anyone has the right to be annoyed, it's me. I just spent _three hours_ with your idiotic brother, and you – " she glowers, "were a complete prat this afternoon."

"_I_ was a prat?" he repeats, letting out a sharp laugh. "You're the one who keeps looking down on me, telling me what you think I should do."

Vivian opens her mouth to deny this, but instead just grouses, "I just don't want you to become like Mulciber. You're better than he is."

Regulus turns to look at her again. This time, his frown is a little less dark. They fall silent for a few moments before he sighs, "Vivian, if I could get you out of this task, I would. You know I would. But it doesn't change the fact that this is what _I_ want."

Vivian tightens her already crossed arms and stares into the green fire. She doesn't turn her head to look at Regulus when she whispers, "I know," and he doesn't say anything more on the subject for a long time. Together, they just sit there staring at the flames, and they say nothing at all.

And then…

"I've thought about it, you know," she says. "Marrying you."

With a start, Regulus whips his head to stare at her, eyes wide. He clearly hadn't been expecting her to say that. In truth, Vivian hadn't expected it either, not entirely. It's true, though. She has thought about it, and wondered if perhaps things would be easier if Mulciber wasn't involved. That maybe, if she just married Regulus, she would be content.

It's just that Vivian doesn't want to be content. She wants to be swept over. She wants a love made from thunder – breathless and brimming over with passion.

But she has thought about it, and that's why she slowly adds, "I don't think it would be fair to you, though."

Regulus is so still beside her that he seems almost like he's frozen over into stone.

"I don't think I could ever – "

"I wouldn't be able to marry you anyway," Regulus interrupts, and Vivian doesn't get the chance to tell him that she doubts she could ever love him, truly love him, because of the path he's on. She doesn't get that chance, and Regulus is glad for it, because he isn't sure he could bear to hear her say those words aloud.

She turns to look at him, only to find that he's already staring back. He is not stone now; instead he's buzzing with energy, hand clenching down on the back of the couch as he turns to face her, eyes wild and painfully truthful.

"Mulciber already has a claim on you," he murmurs, and he knows she doesn't like the way it's phrased but it's true. Mulciber does have a claim on her, whether she likes it or not. Regulus can't just step in and break up a betrothal like that. It would be seen as a slight of the highest degree, and the backlash would be tremendous. But he's thought about it, too. Of course he has.

Vivian frowns, but doesn't reply, and Regulus sighs again and mumbles, "I'll see you tomorrow, Vivian," before standing up and leaving her there in the empty common room, wild thoughts spinning through her head.


	43. Si vis amari ama

**Chapter Forty Three | Si vis amari ama**

**[If you wish to be loved, love]**

The following week passes in a similar manner to the previous one. After classes and meals, Vivian and Sirius report to their detentions with Filch, who seems to have made it his life's goal to make every night worse than the last. In all her spare moments, Vivian retreats to the classroom on the third floor. In order to be as discreet as possible with these absences, she often splits her time between the classroom and the library, focusing on research in public while testing out variations of her spell in private. She has yet to test any of her attempts on an actual living creature, but she knows that she will have to take that step eventually. So far, though, she hasn't quite gotten the Latin figured out yet, and so she hasn't deemed it to be fully necessary.

Concerning her task, most of her time is spent with her nose in _'Advanced Latin for the Journeyman Linguist'_, plying parchment and notebooks with potential terms and particles of speech. She has also taken to corroborating with her Ancient Runes textbook, which, while not traditionally linguistic in nature, has given her some ideas for which to work with. It is also more familiar territory, as she's always held a fascination for the topic, and it gives her a larger sense of stability throughout the process. Overall, though, she is beginning to grow anxious with each failed attempt, but is sure that she's on the right track. She must have altered the Latin verb 'Vivere', her desired root, several dozen times by the end of that week, with no success. She's missing something important – another verb, perhaps, to center the magic to her desired result, or a different prefix or suffix to alter the nature of it – but so far, she has not yet discovered what it might be.

That is why she has decided to bury herself in more research this afternoon, in hopes that it might give her some illumination as to the pieces of the spell that she is missing. Her quiet table in one of the far aisles of the library is thankfully undisturbed save for her own presence. She's leaning over the book that her father had lent her and rereading much of what she has already read. She's convinced that the answer to her problem lies with the nature of Inferi in itself, and therefore she needs to endeavor to learn everything that can be learned about the creatures.

The only problem is that it's quite dry material, written in such a way as to appeal to strict intellectuals who already possess an advanced understanding of dark creatures, and Vivian is already exhausted from having stayed up well into the early hours of morning trying to catch up on homework assignments that she's been procrastinating on. Her eyes are drooping despite it being only mid-afternoon. Her quiet table, while being a boon in terms of privacy, is not helping her to stay awake.

When, after an hour or so, the quiet is broken by the sound of a chair being pulled out beside her, she has been trying not to nod off for some time now and is partially annoyed at having company, while being partially relieved for a distraction.

"If Pince saw you sleeping over her books, she'd be very offended," Gavin tells her cheerfully, heaving his large bookbag into his lap so as to riffle through it.

Her slight annoyance disappears with the realization that her intruder is just Gavin, and Vivian hums sleepily in agreement.

As he's gathering some parchment, he glances up at her and murmurs, "Should I ask the Head Girl to lessen the number of your patrols? You look like you haven't properly slept in weeks."

Vivian, upon hearing his kind suggestion, immediately blinks away her exhaustion and clears her throat. "No, I'm fine. This book is just boring is all." She makes no mention of the fact that he's right, she hasn't been sleeping properly. Not since Christmas, to be precise. That he's unwittingly hit the nail on the head is somewhat nerve-wracking. Is her exhaustion that obvious? She thought she was being more successful with hiding her pale, drawn skin and her bloodshot eyes…

Gavin studies her for one long moment before shrugging and opening one of his textbooks. "Alright," is all he says, and then changes the subject to his absolute favorite. "Have you really not finished your D.A.D.A. essay yet? It's due tomorrow."

The question makes her furrow her brow in confusion, until Gavin sends her a strange look and gestures to her reading material. She wouldn't be reading a book called '_Raising the Dead' _unless it was for Defense Against the Dark Arts, after all. Vivian opens her mouth and says, "Oh right. I finished it last night but I wanted to check on a few facts before tomorrow."

At least half of that sentence is, in fact, the truth. She did finish her D.A.D.A. essay last night, staying up in the common room with her schoolwork and assignments layered out before her, desperately trying to get as much work done as possible so that she could turn her attentions to more important things. Task or not, she doubts her parents would be overly pleased if her marks began to fall. She's sure that they fully expect her to accomplish her task while remaining at the top of all her classes.

Gavin hums. He seems to think that there's something off about her, but it isn't quite dire enough to truly concern him because he starts talking about his own essay and what he had chosen to write about, and how it had ended up being fifteen inches longer than the assigned twenty and he'd had to go back and mournfully edit out much of his original (and important!) notations.

"Anyway though," he says after his monologue, "I've brought you something you might like to read." Then, swooping down to once more look through his bag, he pulls out a book and hands it over to her. He leans forward and eagerly gushes, "It's about a man who performs experiments on himself and becomes invisible, and he spends the entire book trying to reverse it. It's a muggle book but _I_ think it was actually written by a wizard under a different penname."

Vivian raises an eyebrow and glances down at it. _"'The Invisible Man'?_ It does sound a bit suspicious," she concedes.

Gavin nods, "I thought so too. You should read it, it's really good. Oh, and I almost forgot – Lily told me to give this to you." He hands over a neatly folded piece of parchment with Vivian's name written on it in precise handwriting. When she sends him a weird look, Gavin shrugs. "I ran into her on my way here. And – can you believe this? – she was with _Potter._ And she wasn't trying to _murder_ him."

Vivian actually cannot believe that, and stares at Gavin with skeptical eyes. He only shrugs again and turns to flip through his textbook, leaving Vivian to unfold Lily's note and read its contents.

'_Vivian,_

_I wondered if you wanted to go to the Slug Club dinner party this Saturday evening as friends? Potter keeps asking me to go with him, but I would much prefer having the company of someone who doesn't have the intellectual capacity of a mountain troll. (Slughorn actually invited him. I think it's because he's Head Boy.) Anyway, I know this is probably a little random, seeing as we rarely talk outside of prefect meetings, but since it's a dinner party and we aren't able to invite along other people who aren't in the Slug Club, I thought that you'd at least be able to keep Potter off my back. _

_Sincerely,_

_Lily'_

Vivian immediately narrows her eyes suspiciously. When Gavin sees the look, he raises an eyebrow at her and wonders, "Well? What does she want?"

"She wants to go to Slughorn's dinner party with me. As _friends,"_ Vivian responds, sounding slightly grossed out.

Gavin quirks an amused smile and chuckles, "Does that bother you? I thought you were over your prejudices."

The ease in which he calls her out on this makes Vivian blink at him. She opens her mouth to immediately deny his words, then pauses and instead mutters, "That's not the point."

"Then what is?" Gavin asks, uncapping an inkpot and dipping his new heron feather quill into it with a flourish.

Vivian watches him set it to his roll of parchment. "I can't go to a Slug Club dinner party with Lily Evans – and it has nothing to do with _my_ beliefs," she quickly adds, though doesn't go into detail about said beliefs, or the fact that they have changed somewhat since the beginning of the year. "You forget that there will be a lot of Slytherins there."

Gavin glances up at her and frowns, "Yeah, but it's a _dinner_ party. It's not as if you'll be mingling that much. I heard Slughorn usually kicks everyone out after dessert anyway."

While this is true, Vivian still doesn't like the idea of going with Lily. It's not that she doesn't like Lily – she's not nearly as annoying as _some_ Gryffindors – but it still feels like a bad idea. Gavin doesn't seem to think anything of it, though, and Vivian decides against continuing the conversation lest it travel into other, similar avenues, like her standing within her house. She just grunts as she pulls her book forward again.

"Whatever. I'll have to think about it," Vivian grumbles, and stuffs Lily's note into the front of her book.

Gavin hums, "I think it you should go. You don't have a detention that night since it's the weekend and it would definitely annoy Potter, which is always a plus."

She does have to admit that annoying James is a very admirable pastime, and so Vivian snickers a bit as she finds the paragraph she'd been reading before Gavin had arrived.

Speaking of James Potter, though…

"You didn't have to go that far," James mutters, crossing his arms as he quietly shifts a book back onto the shelf directly behind Vivian's aisle. "I do not have the intellectual capacity of a mountain troll."

Beside him, Lily smirks and quietly responds, _"Vivian_ thinks you do, though."

James glowers for half a second before turning to her with shining eyes, and in a slightly louder voice, he happily says, "But _you_ don't?"

Lily pauses, seems to realize what she had just inferred, and quickly responds, "Anyway, this will work, I'm telling you. She didn't outright refuse, so that means I can convince her to go with me as friends."

James nods. "Right. But if your whole scheme _doesn't_ work – "

"It will."

" – Then I get to try out _my_ idea," James declares as they move back towards the main room of the library.

Lily scoffs and shoots him a narrowed look. "Your idea is terrible."

"Excuse me, I've put a lot of thought into that plan," James sniffs haughtily, reclaiming the chair he had recently abandoned in order to do his reconnaissance work. He watches Lily cross her arms as she loiters near the table and opens his mouth to invite her to sit down, but doesn't get the chance because – Holy Choir of Angels – Lily actually pulls out a chair and sits of her own accord.

James stares at her in dazed wonderment until Lily gives him a weird look and demands, "What?"

He opens his mouth to gush about her choice of tables, but then decides that it would probably annoy her and just mumbles, "Er…nothing. Did you do the History of Magic homework?"

Lily raises an eyebrow. "Of course I did," and waits for him to ask –

"Can I borrow it?"

She glowers at him, stands up with a huff, and retorts, "Do it yourself and prove that you're smarter than a troll, James Potter."

With that, she takes her leave, and James, dazed and pining, lets out a contented sigh as he watches her go.

* * *

"So what's the deal with your prank, Padfoot?" James wonders as he sits down at the Gryffindor table some hours later for dinner. His ladylove has not yet graced the room with her presence yet, so he keeps shooting glances at the doors to see when she arrives. The way she's said his name today in the library keeps rolling through his mind, and he's in a very happy mood as he fills his plate with roast potatoes and onions and steak.

Sirius glances over at him with a raised eyebrow. "If you're referring to _the_ prank, it's still a work in progress."

"You mean the love – " Peter starts to say, and then falls silent when Sirius shoots him a look and he realizes how loud his voice is. "The poems?" he finishes, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"You mean you're still sending them?" James asks, looking slightly surprised by this.

Sirius isn't sure why, and just gives him a weird look. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

Remus too looks vaguely surprised. He exchanges a glance with James, who says, "I just figured you'd have gotten bored by now, is all."

The notion that Sirius Black would ever get bored of pranking Vivian Blair seems entirely novel to him, for he raises both his eyebrows now and stares over at his friends with a blank expression. "Bored? Gentlemen, if anything, I'm even _more_ invested now."

He thinks about Vivian's endearing embarrassment from their detention some days prior, and the sight of her in his blazer (and the sight of her _before_ he'd offered his blazer). The tentative way she'd looked at him outside of the Great Hall, quietly breathless and utterly alluring in the dim firelight. He thinks of her blushing countenance and her wild eyes and the way he had wanted to kiss her, then, only he hadn't been able to work up the courage nor face Vivian's wrath should he _ever_ be so courageous. And he smiles, giddy almost, with a boyish sort of charm that has several girls glancing over at him while they eat, because he's Sirius Black and he's gorgeous. To everyone except one, at least. (Or so it seems.)

Remus stares at his boyish smile and says, "Do you finally admit it, then?"

"Admit what?" Sirius wonders, eyes drifting over to the Slytherin table. Vivian's back is turned towards him tonight, but he still admires the curtain of her dark hair and recalls how silky it had felt beneath his fingertips. The desire to wrap it around his hands and drag her head back and skim his mouth over her neck has surfaced in his mind during the hours between then and now. In fact, he's been having trouble thinking about anything else all day.

"That you like her," Remus extrapolates, watching Sirius with a strange look on his face.

Peter and James turn to watch him, too, though with varied expressions. James appears expectant as he waits for Sirius to admit what each of them is already aware of. Peter looks somewhat less pleased, and glances at Sirius with the edge of betrayal in his eyes, as if by liking Vivian Blair, Sirius has committed a true act of treason against their Maraudership. Still, not even Peter seems all that surprised by the notion at this point. Months of watching Sirius fight tooth and nail against his own heart has softened the blow a bit.

"_Like_ her?" Sirius repeats, as if he's going to deny it yet again. His friends wait, raising their eyebrows at him until at last he grumbles, "It doesn't matter, does it? She hates me. I've really mucked things up."

This isn't the admission that the other Marauders were expecting to hear, and it's obvious that they seem to find it shocking. James gapes at him. Remus's eyebrows raise into his hairline. Even Peter looks surprised, turning his head to study Sirius as if he thinks that he's gone insane.

James's mouth flaps open a few times before he settles with a, "So you admit that you've gone too far with your pranks in the past, then," just to gain some clarification.

Sirius grumbles again and sighs, "Yeah, I mean, I wouldn't have if I'd known that someday I'd – " and here he falters, not necessarily because he doesn't want to say the next portion of his sentence, but because Vivian's voice flickers through his head then, and he feels slightly chagrined at the nature of this topic.

"_When you said you like me, did you mean that you _like_ me, or that you just feel bad about being a complete arsehole to me since first year? Because to be honest, Black, the thought of you liking me in _that_ way is making me want to vomit."_

He had outwardly denied having been an arsehole to her, of course, but he isn't so blind as to not see what she's talking about. He _has_ been an arse to her. Why, if Mrs. Potter, who he considers more a mother than his own, knew some of the things he's said and done to Vivian over the last six years, she'd probably have a heart attack. To be perfectly honest, calling her a bitch, had been the _least_ of his wrongdoings.

Of course she won't trust him enough to help her. She won't believe him when he says that he likes her. She won't allow him to get close to her. He can't blame her for it, either, because if their positions were reversed, he's quite sure that he'd tell her to go fuck off before _ever_ accepting her help. They say that hindsight is a bitch and he can definitely see why.

Prongs cringes a bit, no doubt because he's in agreement with his friend, and says, "Well you can start making up for it. Don't be _too_ hard on yourself, Padfoot. Personally, I think Blair actually likes you more than she wants to admit."

Remus nods, "Yeah, and if you tell her that you were the one who wrote those poems and beg for her forgiveness, I'm sure she'd – "

"Woah woah woah, who said I'm going to tell her that I'm her secret poet?" Sirius demands, and at once, his chagrined expression transforms into staunch denial.

James and Remus fall silent.

Peter smiles smugly. "Padfoot would never do something like that," he proclaims, feeling slightly less betrayed.

Sirius nods profusely. "Yeah, it would send me to an early grave."

He looks somewhat frightened by the prospect, which actually makes James feel slightly amused, and Remus feel slightly less judgmental.

Shaking his head, Remus sighs, "Every secret comes to light eventually, Sirius. You might want to keep that in mind."

But Sirius just adamantly says, "Not _every_ secret, Rem. Are you _sure_ you're a Marauder?"

Before Remus can defend his Marauder membership, James sits up straighter and beams, "Lilyflower, you're here!"

Lily, who is hurrying over to where Marlene and the other Gryffindor girls are sitting, sends him an annoyed look. "For the last time, don't call me that, Potter," she snaps as she passes him, but James hardly bats an eye at her tone.

"She called me 'James' today," he merely informs his friends, puffing out his chest proudly.

The other Marauders roll their eyes, suddenly remembering that Sirius's love life is actually _not_ the only complicated and baffling one in their group.

* * *

The topic of the love poems remains lodged in Sirius's head throughout the remainder of dinner and well into the evening. Perhaps that's why he ends up mentioning it during detention that night.

For their next detention, Filch has led Vivian and Sirius down into the dungeons, where one of the Potions classrooms has had a run-in with a clumsy second year. The resulting cauldron explosion ultimately led to an evacuation of the entire room. Rumors of its destruction have already circulated the school, partially helped along by a disgruntled Slughorn, who has brought the subject up several times in his Seventh year classes whenever he was concerned that a student was adding ingredients too quickly or "without reading the instructions!". Clearly, he's very worried that the same incident will repeat itself.

Anyway, the whole place is a mess. Charred ingredients are stuck to the surfaces of the desks and walls, one very unhappy cauldron is in need of some intense scrubbing, and the area surrounding the scene of the accident is in complete disarray.

"Have fun scraping up the bat brains!" Filch had merrily said, before hobbling out of the room while whistling an upbeat jig. Sirius had rolled his eyes at the caretaker and promptly rolled up his sleeves, grumbling a bit about how Filch is just asking to be pranked.

Vivian maintains a neutral silence as she shucks off her Slytherin robes and ties her hair back. The stillness doesn't last for very long. She's beginning to decide that talking to Sirius Black is slightly better than working in awkward silence for the duration of their detention. (Slightly, mind you.)

"So have you gotten any letters lately?" Sirius slowly wonders, glancing at her quickly as he turns his attention to the desk. It's in the middle row next to the far wall, which had gotten hit with the brunt of bat brains. He's going to have to find a way to make Vivian clean that up, because he really doesn't want to. Cleaning isn't really his thing.

Vivian, who is in the process of surveying the desk same as him, crosses her arms and sends him a sidelong glance. "Letters?" she prompts, not entirely sure what he means.

Sirius clears his throat. "Of the romantic type," he clarifies, leaning against one of the clean desks and wondering why he's even asking her. It's just that he can't stop thinking about what Remus had said, about secrets coming out eventually. The shaky truce that they seem to have formed over the last few detentions would be utterly decimated if she were to find out that those letters were all a prank that he himself had concocted to mess with her. Grimacing at the thought, he rubs the back of his neck and imagines her furious expression.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh. You mean the little shit who fancies himself a poet? No, thank Merlin."

Now while Sirius does feel a slight twinge of relief that she seems so unaffected by his prank, the majority of him feels rather slighted that she had just unknowingly insulted him and his superior poetry, and he scoffs, _"Fancies himself a poet?_ What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Then, realizing that his tone is a little too offended to give him the illusion of an outside-party, he hastily adds, "The poems can't be _that_ bad."

Vivian barks out a laugh and grabs a rag from the pile that Filch had so happily provided for them. She throws it at him, grabs one for herself, and responds, "They're not _bad._ Actually…well, some of them are – well the point is that I never asked to receive them to begin with."

Sirius nods quickly and says, "Right. That – er…makes sense." Then he falls silent and berates himself for broaching the topic at all. Still, he can't seem to let it go. The more he thinks about it, the more Remus's words spiral through his head, and the more he wonders if he ought to just stop the prank entirely. There is only one problem. It doesn't _entirely_ feel like a prank anymore.

How can he explain this? Well, it's like Quidditch. Sure, doing laps and stretches and all the physical training isn't necessarily fun. At first, it's rather tiring. But the more one does it, the less challenging it is. You build up your strength to the point where you don't feel as tired after it's all over, and afterwards your increased resilience makes you seem like a better flyer as a result of it all, and it seems as natural as breathing.

In the beginning, writing those poems had been nothing more than an amusing pastime. He had wanted to psyche Vivian out. The first few poems hadn't meant anything at all, and the only thing he felt by writing them had been dark entertainment and the hope that she'd fall into his trap so that he could later prove to her that she isn't as important as she seems to think she is. Except he doesn't really see her in that light any longer, and he's gotten rather accustomed to pouring his heart into those words.

When had he started doing that? Was it before Christmas, or after? Can a person even pinpoint with any exacting clarity when they begin to fall in love, or is love made up of layers of thoughts and actions, integrated together too tightly to pick apart?

As Sirius begins to wipe down the desk, he slowly wonders, "…Who do you think this secret admirer is?"

A part of him thinks that he should stop while he's ahead, and turn the topic to over avenues lest she suspect that his interest in this subject goes beyond neutral curiosity. But another part, a larger part, is too interested to her hear thoughts on the matter, and he convinces himself that perhaps learning of her perspective will make him feel less unsure about it all. He wouldn't claim to feel _guilty_ about his letters, of course, but he does feel a little bit remorseful.

Vivian glances over at him with an expression that could be described as annoyed, except that the atmosphere feels slightly too calm to bring about such a feeling. The room is quiet as they work together to clean the surface of the desk, and Sirius doesn't seem to be trying to make her angry by his questions. He keeps his eyes trained to his work, and she doesn't detect any hint of deception in his impassive expression.

"Why do you care?" she mutters anyway, not quite ready to bridge the gap between this version of Sirius Black and the one she's always known, who is constantly attempting to get the better of her in some way or another. She sees him send her a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, but doesn't look up to meet his gaze. It's strange that he hasn't insulted her even once yet. She finds that a part of her actually wants him to, if only to bring them back to more familiar ground.

Sirius shrugs, dips his rag into a nearby bucket of soapy water, and then continues to wipe down the desk with a little more elbow grease than he'd used before.

"Just curious," he mumbles. Then, after several seconds of silence, he says in a louder voice, "What if he's someone you don't expect? Like a – a professor or something?"

Vivian immediately stops working so that she can skewer him with a glare. "You think one of our professors would write love poems to a seventeen-year-old girl?" she says, through slightly gritted teeth. It's painfully obvious that she finds his suggestion to be both offensive as well as revolting.

Sirius, despite his better judgement, can't help but snicker at the mental image that his random suggestion has brought on, and smirks, "Anderson is only…what, thirty-nine? Forty?"

A short silence falls upon them, in which Sirius continues to wipe down the desk's surface and Vivian stares at him with a rather contemptable expression on her face. And then Sirius lets out a muffled yelp and stumbles back a few paces, because Vivian ends up throwing her damp, bat-brain infested rag right into his face.

"Oi!" he exclaims, arms flailing in an attempt to remove the disgusting rag from his angelic features. "It was only an idea, no need to go all mental on me!"

She glowers. "You're basically saying that, in a school that probably has more than a thousand students from years one through seven, the only person who would like me enough to send me love letters is an old, desperate professor who's twice my age."

Her short rant is concluded with a few annoyed words muttered beneath her breath and a decision to move as far away from him as is possible. Sirius can't be too upset by this, seeing as she's decided to take on the monstrosity that is the far wall in her attempt to be rid of him. He kicks the dirty rag under the desk and reaches for a clean one as he watches her, brows furrowed somewhat as he considers her words.

She does have a point.

"Right. But that's not what I was saying at all," he denies as he leans back over the desk to start scraping the dried bat brains from its surface once more. "I was just giving you a very far-fetched example of your secret love poet being someone you don't expect him to be."

Vivian snorts but doesn't answer, preferring to scrub at the wall with renewed vengeance.

"For instance, what if it's a third year?"

She grits her teeth and doesn't look at him.

"…Or what if he isn't a student at all? Maybe he lives in Hogsmeade and he saw you one day and – "

She closes her eyes and sighs, wondering what had ever made her think that _perhaps_ Sirius Black wasn't _quite_ as annoying as she always thought he was.

"Or – here's a thought - maybe he's a Gryffindor."

Honestly, she has no idea what had come over her the other night, letting him touch her cheek and –

"_What?"_ Vivian whirls around, eyes locking with Sirius's as his words filter past her thoughts. "A _Gryffindor?"_

For some reason, Sirius pauses, and stands very still as he studies her. She doesn't notice because she's too busy wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Well, I mean, it's possible," Sirius says. His voice his careful. Tentative, even. "Maybe it's the only way he can express his feelings…seeing as Slytherin and Gryffindor are natural born rivals and all…"

She narrows her eyes at him and immediately says, "That's ridiculous," before twisting back around to face the wall and continuing her work.

"Not necessarily," Sirius shrugs, making a sterling effort to keep his voice as light as possible. He studies the back of Vivian's head closely, though, wishing he could see her expression so as to get a better idea into her thoughts. As it is, her brief, spluttered response doesn't give him much insight. Slowly, he questions, "Who do _you_ think it is, then?"

Vivian spears him with a look and drawls, "A Slytherin would be ideal, obviously. Maybe it's Regulus."

She doesn't _really_ mean that. Regulus isn't the sort who would dabble with love poems in his spare time, and he especially wouldn't bother with the cloak-and-dagger of it all. Any speculations she may have previously had have been changed by the knowledge that Regulus is far too busy with all of his wannabe Death Eater fanfare. He wouldn't allow himself to get distracted with something so mundane. All of this said, it is extremely amusing watching Sirius's reaction to her offhanded guess.

"_Regulus?!_ As in my _brother?"_ Sirius splutters, sounding highly offended by the notion.

Vivian snorts, bites back a smirk, and then turns to glance at him over her shoulder with a look of innocent confusion on her face. "Do you know anyone _else_ named Regulus?" she wonders.

He gapes at her. "He would _never_ write you a love letter. He'd rather strangle himself."

Vivian shrugs. "Well he'd be a better option than some stupid Gryffindor."

Sirius looks even more offended by this, which is rather hilarious to her because honestly, why does he care so much? Does he really find it upsetting that she doesn't want a Gryffindor hanging all over her? It's a matter of pride. Besides, he's become renown for turning down Slytherin girls, so he can hardly talk.

"Oh…have I hurt your feelings?" Vivian smirks, sounding hopeful.

Sirius glowers, pushes away from the desk, and crosses his arms. "Yes, actually. Gryffindors are great. We're loyal, kindhearted, brave – "

"Don't forget ignorant," she butts in, but he pointedly ignores her.

" – Chivalrous, and of course natural born duelists – "

"Loud and obnoxious," she helpfully supplies.

He spears her a look and continues, "And we're honest to a fault."

Then he pauses and wonders if that's actually true, because here he is, keeping a secret from her that would make her absolutely furious…

"So?" she questions, drawing his mind away from those thoughts. "I'm sure Regulus is loyal and chivalrous – "

"To the Dark Lord maybe," Sirius grumbles.

" – and he isn't obnoxious or annoying like you."

At this, Sirius opens his mouth to gainsay her. "He's full of prejudice and he's too conscientious of blood status." When she looks like she's about to argue, he raises a hand and says, "Don't tell me you disagree, because I know that would be a lie."

Vivian grouses, "What do you mean by that?"

He just reaches for the rag again and starts cleaning the desk as he responds, "Please. You're not into all that pureblood bigotry, Vivian. If you were, you wouldn't be bosom buddies with Clarke."

The term 'bosom buddies' does admittedly make her eyebrow twitch. Or is it because he called her 'Vivian'? She's not sure, but she definitely takes notice.

With a haughty sniff, she also turns back to her cleaning and says, "Not that it's any of your business either way." She doesn't necessarily appreciate him calling her out this, so she makes sure to send him a narrowed glower just to ensure that he gets the message. Judging by the way he rolls his eyes at her and turns his attention back to cleaning the desk, she has a feeling that he _hasn't_, but thankfully he doesn't pester her about it at this moment in time.

Well good. She'd much rather pester _him_.

"So…about Regulus," she begins, and lifts an eyebrow when she sees that those few words alone have brought a scowl onto Sirius's face. Just the mere mention of his brother is enough to anger him.

"What about him?" he gruffly demands, sounding very much as if he'd like to nip this conversation in the bud before it can turn into anything meaningful.

She pauses, considering her words more carefully than she might have, if they were discussing this a few months prior. For some reason, she finds that she doesn't want to upset him overmuch. She knows well enough that this particular topic causes him some level of grief, and while she doesn't have any siblings and doesn't truly understand the relationships therein, or what happens when said relationship is sundered to such an extent, she does feel that she ought to navigate it with a certain amount of courtesy. It's a strange thing, wanting to be courteous to someone like _him_, but she feels it nonetheless, whispering at her to be gentle in her approach.

Instead of asking about Regulus directly, though, as she had originally intended to do, Vivian finds herself inquiring into something else entirely. "Did he really oust you to your father when you went into muggle London?" she wonders, and resumes scrubbing down the wall so as to avoid looking over at him. The distraction of her work also assists with one other thing, too, which is to stop her from overthinking her question.

Why is she curious about _Sirius's_ perspective in all this? She never cared _before…_

Sirius sounds like he's also confused about her curiosity. When he responds, his voice is subtly hesitant, as if he's not sure whether she is genuinely asking or if she's leading her question towards an insult of some kind.

"Yeah…a few times," he says, and shoots her a strange look that she doesn't see, because her back is facing him. When she doesn't appear to have a snarky response at hand, he slowly adds, "He used to follow me around like a shadow. He practically worshipped me, in a way…that was until I got sorted into Gryffindor, of course. Everything changed, after that."

Well not everything. It took a few years of rebelling against the lifestyle he had been raised in, but by third year, his parents had had enough of his attitude and had begun to show their impatience more clearly. As for Regulus, young and impressionable as he was, he had only to be sorted into Slytherin the year after for his Sirius-worshipping days to come to a screeching end. Peer pressure and the biased judgement of his older classmates, along with the nature of his parents, had put a quick end to whatever idolism he'd had as a child.

Vivian doesn't say anything for a while, and so Sirius thinks that she must not be all that interested in his story. This doesn't particularly surprise him. In his opinion, it isn't exactly a story that makes the listener all that eager to hear more. Personally, he finds it rather depressing. He doesn't often open up about his past to very many people. See, another trait that Gryffindors have is optimism, and he prefers to look at his life and see the blessings rather than the challenges. His friends, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, the life he's carved out for himself without the influence of his family's prejudices…

Then, abruptly, Vivian wonders, "Why did you go into muggle London in the first place?"

And Sirius, who had gotten accustomed to the silence of the room, slows in his cleaning and glances up at her in confused surprise. Her back is still turned towards him. He finds himself very much wishing that he could see her face.

"Why do you want to know?" he returns, wondering where she's going with all of this. This isn't how a standard detention between them ought to go, after all. They don't have heartfelt conversations, or exchange emotional confessions about their pasts, or open up about their current circumstances or anything like that. And while her question isn't necessarily an emotional one, he finds it strange nonetheless, mainly because her voice is so normal. Her words aren't sneered, and her voice isn't insulting. Rather, it's clear and curious and if he didn't know who he was talking to, he might even think that it sounded friendly.

He watches her shoulders lift up into a shrug. "This is better than working in silence, isn't it?"

At this, Sirius pauses. Perhaps she feels his eyes on her, because after a few moments, Vivian turns her head, and they just stand there quietly and stare until she raises an eyebrow at him and he clears his throat.

"Right. I guess," he mutters, ducking his head to resume his work. He pauses for a lengthy minute as he gathers his thoughts, and then in a lighter tone, he says, "Well – there's this pub a few blocks away from my house, see? Most nights, bands come and play. It's great. Have you ever listened to rock n' roll?"

Vivian, who has yet to turn back to scrubbing at the wall, finds herself rather surprised at the excitement burning through his eyes, and murmurs, "…No," as she watches him.

"Muggle music is amazing," he gushes with a crooked smile. "They're so talented. Some of the guitar rifts give me goosebumps – and the lyrics are incredible. The whole atmosphere is, really – but anyway, I'd go down to the pub to listen to the bands, and they'd let me in even though they knew I was underage. I think they appreciated that I was just there for the music, you know?"

It's strange, how oddly attractive he is in his moment, as he enthusiastically explains a piece of his life to her that had, before, been left to darkness. She finds herself watching his movements as he does, hands gesticulating, crooked smile growing wider – until she finds herself edging forward curiously as he speaks, hardly realizing that she's moving at all.

" – There's this one band called The Rolling Stones. They're too big these days to play in some backwater pub but one of the proprietors got me into them. They've got so many good songs. There's Queen too. I bet even _you_ wouldn't be able to say they're bad. I mean, Freddie Mercury is a legend, you should hear his voice – "

If she's hanging onto his every word, Sirius doesn't notice. Perhaps that very ignorance is why she's so interested in what he's saying. He's got this far-away look in his eyes that's strangely enticing. He doesn't even seem to remember that she's there at all.

" – Some really good American bands too, like The Ramones. They've got this attitude to their music that I love. That's the whole thing about rock. The attitude. I guess that's why I like it…"

His eyes suddenly lift to hers, and Sirius seems to abruptly realize that he's been monopolizing the last few minutes with his gushing. There's something about the slight embarrassment that overtakes his features as that realization comes that makes Vivian want to smile. She doesn't, of course, but the urge is still there, lingering in the back of her mind.

"Er. So anyway…Regulus. Right," Sirius coughs, and she purses her lips because the urge is getting harder to quell. "Well he followed me one night. He spilled everything to my parents. They were pretty pissed."

'Pretty pissed' doesn't really cover it, to be fair, but Sirius doesn't want to get into all the bleak details. The memory of the resulting ramifications of that night are better left alone. It doesn't do any good stewing in those things anyway. Suffice to say that his parents were more than a _little pissed,_ and they had no qualms about showing it.

Vivian, knowing for herself what it's like to have strict pureblood parents, hears everything that Sirius isn't saying. "I see…" she murmurs, studying the planes of his expression with close eyes. Memories of her own failed trip into muggle London presses into her thoughts. She thinks it's incredibly strange that she shares a memory of this nature with Sirius Black, of all people.

Sirius quickly waves his hand and adds, "Well anyway, it didn't stop me from visiting that pub again. Actually, it only made me want to rebel even more."

He quips that crooked smile at her, grey eyes flashing in such a way that it finally draws out that smile that she's been trying to tamper down. It floods over her face so quickly that the unnerving quality of that last few moments vanishes in its wake, and Sirius is filled with a different emotion entirely. It's hard to describe, but it's light and pleasant and foggy, like the newness of a crisp morning when the sun isn't able to fully breach the clouds, and only a few wisps of its rays alight upon the earth. There is a dove grey pallor to the dawn that seems pure and untouched, and when you breathe it all in, it's like you're inhaling for the first time. He can't help the smile that burgeons over his own face in response. The crooked edge disappears into a more sincere curve, and it occurs to him that he's never seen her smile like that before. Not at him.

It's lovely.

"So," Vivian murmurs, reaching for one of the fresh rags and turning her attention to the desk same as him, because she feels that she ought to be doing something and she isn't sure she wants to move away and deny herself the sight of his smile. "Why is it called rock and roll, anyway?"

Sirius's smile only grows. He leans back and shrugs, "Dunno. Probably because it makes you want to move."

She raises an eyebrow. "You mean dance."

"No," he responds. "I mean _move_. I'm not talking about those boring waltzes at those pureblood parties."

Vivian scoffs and mutters, "Waltzes aren't boring. Besides, you haven't been to one of those parties in _years."_

He doesn't even blink at this and just says, "Look, I'll show you some time. It's hard to explain unless you hear the beat of the music." Then, realizing what he's just said, he clears his throat and mumbles, "If you want, that is."

The pure, sincere smiles from before are exchanged out for something far more familiar when Vivian smirks and drawls, "Are you asking me if I want to dance with you, Black?"

Yes, this is better. More comfortable. Less new and shaky and precarious.

Sirius's smile regains its crookedness when he drawls back, "Maybe I am, Blair."

It's a funny thing, how those next few moments go. Rather than feeling annoyed at his boldness, or disgusted at his offer, Vivian feels only a quiet sort of amusement that he had made the suggestion at all. It doesn't occur to her to feel nervous or embarrassed. It doesn't even occur to her that this seems an awful lot like flirting. That would obviously be ridiculous, because Vivian Blair would never flirt with Sirius Black. And so she only smirks at him, and Sirius only smiles crookedly back, and for the duration of those few moments, they do very little else.

That's the funny thing about time. Sometimes it seems to move quickly, as a rush of seconds around a clock; while sometimes it almost seems to slow down just for you, as if it is accommodating some wayward impulse that unfurls from the human spirit with too much wilderness to capture. And then, when time has accommodated as much of that wayward impulse as it can manage, you blink and remember everything that you had forgotten in that press of seconds. That is what happens when Vivian and Sirius abruptly realize that they are just standing there smiling at each other like idiots.

"…We should probably hurry up. I reckon Filch'll be around soon to check on us," Sirius says, feeling his face grow warm. He doesn't look at Vivian to see if she has a similar reaction.

"…Right," Vivian blinks, suddenly wishing that she'd moved back to the wall after all. She suddenly feels that she's too close to him, and not only in terms of distance.

What had that been about, anyway? It almost feels as if a bridge had been constructed between him and her, and for the briefest of moments, Vivian could have reached out across the expanse and stepped into his world. The thought rattles her, but she can't quite figure out why. It's not until later, once their detention is finished and they're gathering their things to leave, that the answer comes to her.

They step out into the hall and linger there for a moment in awkward silence, as if they both want to say something but aren't entirely sure _what_ to say, and so the silence just builds between them until it turns uncomfortable. Vivian, after some hesitation, glances over at him and murmurs a quick goodbye before she starts to walk down the dark corridor. The Slytherin common room is nearby, only a few hallways down. She's hoping it will be empty so that she can do some work on her spell. As she's passing him, though, Sirius reaches out to gently hook his fingers around her arm and pull her to a stop. The slight pressure of his hand upon her arm is a surprising thing: it this particular moment, it feels incredibly vivid. She turns to look at him, and as he slowly drops his hand from her arm, she feels a confusing burst of disappointment flair through her at the absence of his touch.

"I…uh. Just wanted to say that…um…" he clears his throat and starts over. "For what it's worth, I – "

"Yes?" she prompts. She's slightly impatient and slightly breathless, for reasons unknown for now.

He hesitates for a moment more. She's about to turn around and leave him stuttering out where he stands, but then he says something very unexpected and Vivian is so taken off guard that she doesn't turn around. She doesn't do anything but stare at him in shock.

"I'm sorry," he blurts, keeping his eyes firmly trained to the wall behind her. He seems quite uncomfortable, but determined nonetheless. "For all those pranks and insults…and for calling you a bitch. And…everything."

Everything. Like writing her love letters as a joke. Like playing with her feelings and leading her on and assuming that just because Vivian Blair is a Slytherin and a pureblood, she has no heart. No feelings. No soul.

He's never been more wrong about anything in his entire life.

Vivian stares at him, and he stares at the wall, until at last she struggles to regain her sense of composure and scoffs, "Well it's about time you actually apologized for being an arsehole, Black."

And then, because she feels so awkward in the fact of said apology, and doesn't know what else to say or whether he _expects_ her to say anything more or not –

She turns on her heel and flees, and she doesn't see the way Sirius's mouth curves up into that smile as he watches her go. It isn't until she's safe within her common room, heart beating wildly in her chest, that she has an epiphany.

All of those side-effects? The shivers, the breathlessness, the attention paid to his crooked smile and his earnest explanation of muggle music…it all spins through her head with a sudden vertigo that she collapses into the couch by the fire as her thoughts collapse in on each other.

It's like a dust storm in a desert – wind gusting, sand flying – blowing with such force that, when it all begins to settle, the core of that storm makes her feel as though she is still standing in the center of it even as the winds still and the world is enveloped with tentative peace. And she sees something that she hadn't seen before, in that center. Something that makes her breathe out in shock. Something that makes her shake her head in hopes of rejecting it entirely. Only she can't reject it, because it's there even when she blinks. It isn't a mirage or an illusion. It can't be so easily cast aside.

Still, she tries anyway, because –

Sirius Black is an arse. He's a Gryffindor. He is everything that she isn't, and she's hated him for as long as she can remember. She can't _like_ him.

…Can she?


	44. Nil est amore veritatis

**Chapter Forty Four | Nil est amore veritatis**

**[Nothing is more sublime than love of truth]**

Vivian Blair hates Sirius Black. It is one of those immutable facts of nature. It isn't something that can be altered with just a couple of crooked smiles and a conversation about muggle bands. It can't be.

These are the thoughts that occupy Vivian's mind as she heads down to breakfast the next morning. The never-ending gossip that pours from Rosalind's mouth isn't enough to derail these mantras. Not even the sight of Morrigan – out of breath, running towards them with her undone tie flapping around her neck – properly distracts her from her thoughts. Well, not completely anyway.

"Where have you been?" Rosalind demands, eyeing Morrigan with a raised eyebrow. "You never came back to the dorm last night."

Morrigan pushes her hair over her shoulder with a proud smirk. As they walk through the door of the Great Hall, she nods over at the Hufflepuff table and murmurs, "That's because I was otherwise engaged with a certain Captain."

Rosalind's mouth drops. In a high-pitched voice, she says, "You absolute slut! So how was it? Does he really wear his Quidditch jumper to bed?"

"I don't kiss and tell," is Morrigan's smug reply. She raises her chin proudly and strides off to the Slytherin table.

Rosalind practically hiccups, "Yes you do – you _always_ talk about your conquests!"

Vivian rolls her eyes and shares a look with Narcissa, who doesn't look all that impressed either.

"I can't believe she slept with _Sheaffer_. That's so gross," Narcissa mutters as they head to the Slytherin table to join their friends.

Vivian grunts in agreement, but she's only half listening. She's too busy reminding herself that she hates Sirius Black and that his crooked smiles are –

Gorgeous.

Her eyes alight on his from across the room, and with a start, Vivian stops walking altogether. He's looking at her. No – staring.

"Vivian? You coming?" Narcissa asks from a few paces ahead.

The question is enough to make Vivian remember herself, and her mantra, and that immutable fact of nature that she's been mentally repeating all morning. Immediately, her eyes narrow, and she sends Sirius a look of haughty disregard as she falls back into step beside Narcissa. She maintains that expression all the way to the Slytherin table…until she realizes that the only seats available are all facing the rest of the room. When she grudgingly sits down, she shoots another look over at the Gryffindors, only to sigh out in relief when she sees that Sirius has his head turned away from her and is talking to one of his stupid friends.

Thank Merlin.

" – And no, he doesn't go to bed with his jumper on. Where did you even hear that?" Morrigan is demanding, having apparently already spilled everything about her rendezvous with Shaeffer. Rosalind is practically leaning right into the pitcher of pumpkin juice, she's so excited.

"Oh you know, people talk," Rosalind waves her hand. Then she pauses and turns to Vivian with a wide smirk. "I've recently heard something about you too, Blair. About _Sirius Black."_

Vivian, who is in the middle of taking a sip of blessedly hot tea, promptly starts coughing. Rosalind takes her reaction as a sign of impending gossip and haphazardly tosses a napkin at her to hurry it along.

"_What?"_ Vivian hisses, still coughing a bit as she grabs the napkin and tries to salvage her now tea-stained shirt.

Rosalind looks positively ravenous as she leans in and whispers, "I heard that you and him do all sorts of things in your detentions," she trails off, wags her eyebrows, and giggles when she sees Vivian's face turn several shades darker. "Oh it's true, isn't it! _I knew it!"_

"No one can resist Sirius Black," Morrigan shrugs, completely unfazed. Her eyes do flicker with interest, though, as she watches Vivian's reaction.

Said reaction is quick to turn very annoyed, very quickly. Slamming her tea cup down onto the table, Vivian loudly denies, "I do not get it on with – " Then, realizing just how loud her voice is, she ends with a hissed, "With _Sirius Black."_

She hates Sirius Black. His crooked smiles make him look constipated. His gushing about muggle rock bands is childish and insipid.

"Come on, Vivian, you _at least_ have to admit that you've thought about it," Rosalind says.

Vivian blushes again.

"I mean, just imagine what he'd look like underneath you. I bet he likes strong women who can wrestle him down – "

"Rosalind I am two seconds away from lighting your hair on fire," Vivian growls, throwing her napkin down onto her plate. Suddenly, she isn't very hungry.

Narcissa, who has remained tight-lipped thus far (mostly due to her unimaginable disgust at the mental images provided by her friend) groans, "Please. _Stop_ talking about my stupid cousin like that, Rosalind."

Morrigan smirks. "Don't be a pansy, Cissy. I rather like where this conversation is going. Just look at Blair's face!" she crows, finding way too much amusement in the sight of Vivian's red countenance.

Rosalind giggles loudly. Vivian just leans forward to rub her forehead with a scowl.

"Who, exactly, is spreading this filth around the school?" she demands after a moment.

Morrigan lifts an eyebrow. "Why, so you can go hex them?"

Vivian shoots her a glower and doesn't grace that with a response (even though that's precisely the reason).

Rosalind hums and wonders, "Well if you're not getting wild with Sirius Black, why are you always out so late? I figured you two were sneaking around the castle after hours, taking a page out of Morrigan's book and christening empty classrooms."

Narcissa groans again. Morrigan merely raises an eyebrow curiously, completely unoffended that her own extracurriculars have been brought up once more. As for Vivian…well.

"I've already told you, I have prefect patrols and I've been procrastinating on homework – "

"She never used to be this busy," Morrigan says to Rosalind, ignoring Vivian's stumbled explanation entirely. The way she says 'busy' sounds very skeptical.

Rosalind nods, and opens her mouth to reply, but this time Vivian cuts her off to firmly say, "Oh shut up with the whole Sirius Black thing. Like I would ever like _him."_

Or his stupid crooked smiles or his gushing –

Morrigan and Rosalind both raise their eyebrows at her.

"No one ever said you _liked_ him, Blair," Rosalind slyly murmurs.

"Yeah. You don't have to _like_ him to drag him into a broom closet," Morrigan says, just as slyly.

"_Do_ you like him?" Rosalind wonders.

"Interesting word choice," Morrigan nods.

Thankfully, before Vivian can absolutely explode (hexes do seem to be on the horizon), Narcissa lets out an exasperated sigh and loudly proclaims, "We are _not_ discussing this any longer! I _refuse_ to be a part of this!"

If it was in Vivian's nature, she'd probably kneel at Narcissa's feet and thank her profusely for this. It's not, of course, so she just grumbles and angrily grabs her tea, which isn't quite as blissfully hot as it had been before. Whatever profuse thanks she might have said is muttered into the rim of the cup and promptly muffled into the long sip she takes –

And then promptly spit back up because, as chance would have it, she ends up lifting her eyes and her gaze clashes with _his_ for the second time that morning. Sirius looks like he's trying to hold back a laugh as he watches her inelegantly slam her teacup back onto the table and reach for her napkin, also for the second time that morning. He raises his eyebrows at her and winks, crooked smile on full display.

"Vivian, you literally look like a tomato," Morrigan drawls.

"I think your face is hot enough to _fry_ the tomato," Rosalind helpfully inputs.

"Are you _blushing_ at my cousin?" Narcissa demands, sounding quite shocked (and slightly offended).

"What? _Is_ she?" Rosalind gasps, angling her head to look over at the Gryffindor table.

"There's a nice, spacious broom closet on the fifth floor, if you want to make use of it," Morrigan dryly informs her with an evil smirk. "Get him out of your system, yeah?" she purrs, chin in hand and eyes flashing knowingly.

At this point, Vivian has had _quite_ enough – of dormmates _and_ Sirius Black. With a fierce glower, she throws her napkin into Rosalind's face (who, in her opinion, had started this whole mess and therefore deserves the punishment), and reaches over to grab her bookbag.

"I _hate_ Sirius Black. He can take his crooked smiles and shove them up his womanizing arse," she exclaims – loudly enough for said womanizer to hear quite clearly.

Sirius raises his eyebrows even higher, looking annoyingly amused by her declaration as his friends snicker around him and a good majority of the student body turns to stare at her. She sends him a glare for good measure, as if she's daring him to break out into laughter. He doesn't, but it certainly looks like it takes a good deal of effort on his part. Fucking Gryffindor.

As she stomps away, Morrigan hums, "If she'd just jump his bones already, the itch wouldn't be this bad."

Rosalind shrugs. "Yeah, but Sirius Black _never_ gets it on with Slytherin girls. It's never happened before."

Narcissa raises an eyebrow. "That's true…did you just make up that whole rumor to piss her off, then?"

Rosalind pauses, smirks, and innocently takes a bite of her breakfast without a word. Narcissa huffs. Morrigan snickers. But all three of them haven't accounted for one small detail:

Just because something has never happened before doesn't mean that it never will.

* * *

"Padfoot, give me your best 'crooked smile', love!" James girlishly sighs as the Marauders amble to their first class of the day.

Sirius rolls his eyes, but he can't stop the grin from overtaking his features nonetheless. He makes an effort to hold it back in hopes that James doesn't notice, but alas, nothing ever gets past Prongs, fabled and infamous Leader of the Marauders. (Or, at least, that's what he likes to claim when he's having a particularly lucky day.)

"Ooh, that _smile_. The charm! The _crookedness!_ It's making my head spin. Isn't it making _your_ head spin, Wormtail?" James loudly swoons, throwing his arms over Peter's shoulders.

Peter just sends him a weird look and says, "I don't understand why we're talking about Padfoot's smile."

Remus seems to be in agreement, at least in that he doesn't understand why his friends are making such a big deal about it.

James snickers and proclaims, _"Because,_ Wormtail, Blair noticed the exact angle of Padfoot's smile, which means of course that – "

"You're taking this way too far," Remus finishes.

James shakes his head at him. "No, Moony. It means that Sirius properly smiled at her. None of the evil smirks he always sends Slytherins. No fake grins. No – "

"James. We need to talk."

All four Marauders stop walking and turn as one, all with varying expressions of shock. James, especially, looks like he might faint.

"Huh?" he splutters, eyes wide.

Lily puts her hands on her hips and sends him an impatient look. "I. Need. To. Talk. To. You."

Fainting does indeed look imminent. The others watch as James clears his throat and pushes back his hair (which flips right back into place). They are all quite confused as to why Lily Evans has willingly approached their friend, who she claims to hate with everything she has.

"Are you deaf?" she demands.

James sighs girlishly. This time, it's more genuine. "No," he smiles. "If I was, I wouldn't have heard you call me 'James'."

Lily doesn't look impressed, and just rolls her eyes as she jerks her head to the side of the corridor.

James clears his throat again and turns back to his friends. "Well, gentlemen, I'll meet you all in class. I've been asked to have a _conversation_ with Lily, which means that I'll probably be held up for a while. Maybe a long time. Hopefully."

Lily, who is tapping her foot impatiently as James farewells his friends, snaps, "It'll take thirty seconds."

James pauses and nods, "Right. Thirty seconds."

She rolls her eyes again as he steps over to where she's standing, suavely waving off his friends with a rather posh flick of his wrist. It doesn't exactly do anything; the Marauders just stand there gaping at them with confused eyes until Lily sends them all annoyed looks that work infinitely better than James's ineffective hand wave. He looks inordinately impressed with her ability to dispel his friends.

"So Lilyflower, love of my life – you look gorgeous this morning, by the way – what can I do for you?" he prattles, leaning against the wall in what he probably thinks is a very charming manner.

Lily releases a very impatient breath as she stares at him, battling with the desire to cut right to the chase of why she wants to talk to him whilst simultaneously wanting to tell him off for calling her Lilyflower _again,_ even though she's told him not to a _million_ times. It shouldn't be all that surprising which one wins out.

"Okay look, Potter," she begins, and quickly holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. "I think we need to lay down some more ground rules."

Naturally, James looks quite skeptical of anything to do with rules, and furrows his brows in confusion.

"First, you're going to start calling me _Lily_. Not 'Lilyflower', and definitely not 'love of my life'," she firmly tells him, crossing her arms and sending him a hard look when he looks like he wants to argue this point. _"Second,"_ she says, before he can, "you're not allowed to compliment me for the duration of our agreement. _At all."_

"But – "

"_Third,"_ she grits out, "if I hear that you've been spreading rumors about us being together, I will end our deal faster than you can blink."

He looks aghast. "I would _never_ – "

"Do you agree?" she cuts in, raising her eyebrow expectantly.

James frowns at her. He actually looks rather upset by her additional ground rules, which almost takes her aback – almost, because this is James Potter, after all, and he never gets upset.

"…Yeah sure. Deal," he mumbles, quite forlornly.

Lily looks triumphant. "Good. Now that that's out of the way, have a look at this." She hands him a folded-up piece of parchment. When James unfolds it and reads its contents, his forlorn expression fades into bewilderment.

'_Evans,_

_Fine. But only because I know it'll make Potter cry._

_Vivian'_

He stares at the letter for a moment before spluttering_, "Cry?_ Me?" He shakes the letter into her face and declares, "I'm _way_ too manly to cry, Lilyflow – er, _Lily_. I can't believe Blair would _say_ that – " When he sees the expression blazing over Lily's face, he promptly clears his throat and mumbles, "Right. So now that the first part of your plan worked, what's next?"

If James wasn't so incredibly fond of Lily's beautiful green eyes, he'd be slightly wary of the way they immediately narrow with mischief.

"Simple," she shrugs, taking her letter back and slipping it into her bag. "We get her to slip up and admit that she likes Sirius."

He raises an eyebrow at her. _"We?_ I thought – "

"Yes_, 'we',"_ she says firmly. "Everyone knows you're too annoyingly flirtatious to let someone like Vivian Blair get in the way of your feelings for me."

Now, James would never deny having feelings for Lily Evans. He's been fairly transparent about said feelings for years now. Everyone, included Lily herself, is aware that James Potter likes her. That said, it's a bit unnerving to hear her say it out loud like that, and he ends up flapping his mouth at her for lack of having anything concrete to say in response.

Lily rolls her eyes at him and sighs, "It's not that difficult to grasp, Potter. I'm proposing that we tag-team her. We keep the conversation on Sirius until she either tells us to shut up or she accidentally admits that she's head over heels for him."

He doesn't look entirely convinced that her idea is a good one. Being a Marauder of such caliber has given him plenty of experience with both the Slytherin mindset as well as how to properly plan for all possible outcomes in a given situation, and this particular situation seems shaky at best.

"I think you're forgetting something," he tells her. "When Blair inevitably gets annoyed with us – which she _will_ – her first reaction won't be to tell us to shut up. This is a death trap."

Lily huffs at him and replies, "It's a _dinner party_. What's she gonna do, hex us?"

James sends her a look. She sighs.

"Fine, then come up with a back-up plan before Saturday," she tells him, and then adds, "We're both going to be late to class," before turning away and heading down the corridor. When he doesn't immediately follow, Lily glances over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow and prompts, "Are you coming or not?"

And James – poor, besotted James – grins at her wayward invitation and nearly prances (in a very manly way) to her side.

* * *

On the evening of Slughorn's dinner party, Vivian arrives in a set of tailored black dress robes with Narcissa at her side. Morrigan, who is usually invited to these affairs, had managed to get out of it on the claim that she had to take some sort of make-up quiz for one of her classes. Anyone who knows Morrigan Flint would realize that this is a complete and utter lie, and that she's probably exploring some unused classroom even now, as students gather in the small dining area attached to Slughorn's personal rooms.

His dinner parties are usually reserved for his brightest students; the ones he believes have the highest chance of becoming successful after graduation. Of course, he takes a certain biased approach to his selection, oftentimes picking students from his own house over those in other houses. For as long as Vivian has been attending these dinners, though, Lily Evans has been a constant attendee. Despite her being from a rival house, Slughorn practically fawns over her. Her top marks, Head Girl status, and winsome personality all work in her favor in this regard, though Vivian is sure that she doesn't enjoy the parties nearly as much as she outwardly appears, especially this time around.

The moment Vivian steps into the room, James Potter's voice immediately captures her attention. He's standing near Lily, loudly informing a befuddled Slughorn what he's planning on doing after Hogwarts. For once, he seems to have put some effort into his appearance, and is wearing a pair of ironed trousers and a button-down shirt. Vivian raises an eyebrow at the sight of him and nudges Narcissa with a smirk. Narcissa turns to see what Vivian is smirking at and smirks too.

"Evans looks like she wants to throw herself out of the window," Narcissa snickers.

"Can't blame her," Vivian responds, crossing her arms. She hears James loudly explain how becoming a Prankster Potioneer would be revolutionary to the Potions industry, and scoffs. "I'd want to off myself too, if someone that annoying kept coming onto me." Then she pauses, mind drifting just so to crooked smiles and flashing grey eyes, and she clears her throat. "Anyway let's go get a drink before Evans sees me and tries to use me to get Potter off her back."

Narcissa is in fact aware of Lily's wayward invitation. Vivian had ended up spilling the story to her when they were getting ready for the evening. Narcissa, who has never been overly fond of Potter, had found it both amusing as well as off-putting. Lily Evans might be one of Slughorn's beloved students, but she doesn't have much sway in Slytherin house as a whole. In that regard, her blood status works very much against her.

"I still can't believe you agreed to that," Narcissa drawls as they make their way to the drinks table.

As expected, there aren't many drink options. This isn't some crazy underage party with alcohol. Besides the iced water, there is only a large bowl of punch and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Vivian avoids the punch (she doesn't trust the combination of a punch bowl and James Potter), and goes to fill up a glass of pumpkin juice instead.

"Yeah, well, I figured it might be amusing to annoy Potter with my presence," she shrugs, and doesn't offer any further explanation. That is, after all, the only reason she had agreed to Lily's random request. She might not think that Evans is as annoying as some of her Gryffindor counterparts, but she's still a Gryffindor. Besides, it's fun watching Potter stumble around trying to woo her – and even more fun to get in the way of his sad attempts at said wooing.

Narcissa hums dryly and pours herself a glass of pumpkin juice too. They both idle beside the table for a moment as they peruse the company that they will be stuck with for the next hour or two. There are students from all years and houses, but Slytherin house seems to take precedence as usual. They stand there and sip their drinks, both calculating who to avoid. It is as they are both conducting this mental practice that the strangest thing happens.

Narcissa, ever proper, suddenly says, "You know, Lucius isn't as good in bed as everyone thinks."

Vivian pauses and turns her head to stare at her in bewilderment, and Narcissa widens her eyes in surprise and brings a hand up to her mouth.

"I didn't mean to say that," she splutters.

Vivian's expression takes a turn into skeptic amusement. "Well if it makes you feel any better, I always figured he was all talk."

It doesn't seem to make Narcissa feel any better, because she blushes and casts a quick glance at where the man in question is standing across the way. The two of them both watch as Lucius elegantly pushes his mane of blonde hair over his shoulder and snickers at something a fellow Slytherin is saying.

"I've asked him to cut his hair a million times," Narcissa admits. "It's just so…so…"

"Girly?" Vivian helpfully supplies, finding it refreshingly easy to speak her mind. It's strange that they're talking about Narcissa's intended in such a way. Usually, Narcissa only has positive things to say about Lucius. In fact, she rarely ever lingers on the obvious negatives (well, obvious to Vivian at least), preferring to rain praises upon him instead.

Narcissa pauses at her friend's description for half a second before bursting into quiet giggles. "He says it make him feel powerful, but it's so annoying when we're having sex and his hair gets in my face – "

"Okay that's definitely more information than I ever wanted to have," Vivian cuts in with a grimace. She looks over at Narcissa's blushing countenance and mutters, "What's the matter with you, anyway? You never talk about Lucius like this." Then, raising an eyebrow higher, she wonders, "Are you having second thoughts about marrying him?"

With a start, Narcissa's eyes widen and she blurts, "No, of course not! I've been planning on marrying him since before we even came to Hogwarts! Everyone can see that we're perfect for each other."

Ah, now that's more like it. Vivian stares at her for a moment longer before accepting her words with a nod, deciding that all must be right in the world. Narcissa, though, isn't as sure.

"I really don't know why I said all that. It's so unlike me to talk about – about _sex_ and – you won't tell him that I hate his hair, will you?" Narcissa pleads, to Vivian's immense surprise.

"Er…yeah, sure. I won't say a word," Vivian replies, not entirely sure what _else_ to say. It seems to placate Narcissa, though, who breathes out a deep sigh of relief and takes another large sip of pumpkin juice. She watches her with a weird look on her face for a moment more, wondering what's gotten into her prim and proper friend tonight. She must be stressed out or something.

Before she can ask, though, Lily takes notice of her. Wonderful.

"Vivian, hi!" she greets, sidling up to them with a friendly smile on her face. She glances quickly at Narcissa, who turns to eye her with a decidedly _unfriendly_ expression, and coughs, "Hello, Narcissa."

Narcissa's lip curls just so. She doesn't deign to respond, and just glances at Vivian as if she's once more questioning her sanity. With that, she turns away and waltzes off to where Lucius and his mane of blonde hair is standing.

Lily looks slightly uncomfortable after this and busies herself with pouring a glass of pumpkin juice, also apparently of the mind that 1 punch bowl + James Potter = disaster. As she does, she hedges, "So, erm, thanks for agreeing to keep Potter off my back tonight. I really appreciate – "

"Pumpkin juice?" the devil himself interrupts, suddenly appearing at Lily's side with a strange expression on his face. It's almost a mixture of exasperation and fear, and it grows slightly more encompassing when he reaches over to pluck Lily's glass from her hand before she can take a sip. As he sets it on the table, James declares, "You've been complaining of a stomach ache all day, Lily! I think water would be better, don't you? Here."

Lily looks rather baffled as James deposits a glass of water in her hands. Vivian looks rather baffled herself. Then again, though, this is James Potter, and _everything_ he does is baffling.

"I haven't been complain – " Lily begins.

"So, Blair, fancy seeing you here. This is my first Slug Club party, you know. Exciting, right?" James swiftly cuts in, reaching up to fix his dress robes, which are of surprisingly good quality. The messy hair and slightly skewed glasses rather lessen the effect, though, as does the fact that his tie is knotted all wrong.

Vivian eyes him and grouses, "Oh, are you not going to count all the _other_ Slug Club parties that you attended _without_ an invitation?"

Memories of pranks and crashed parties flicker through her mind as James laughingly waves her words off and cheerfully says, "I've no idea what you're talking about."

Lily rolls her eyes. "You've crashed at least _half_ of these parties with your friends, Potter. Though," she concedes, "out of all of you, Remus deserves to be invited. It's a shame he's not here tonight."

Vivian can grudgingly admit that Lily does have a point, sort of. If she had to choose one Marauder who actually has a right to attend a Slug Club dinner, it would have to be Remus Lupin. At least he applies himself to his studies, unlike his friends. That said, she wouldn't want anyone to think that she admires Remus in any way beyond that. His intelligence is obviously in question considering who said friends are, which is most likely why Slughorn has never extended him an invite to begin with.

Not that it's stopped any of them from attending anyway, as Lily has also pointed out. Crashing a Slug Club party seems to be one of their amusing past times. She can still recall the incident at the Christmas party just before break. They had really outdone themselves – and not in a good way, she thinks resolutely. Sure, it had been slightly entertaining to watch the chaos unfold, but she's still _highly annoyed_ at the thought of being dragged down the hallway by Sirius Black. That prick.

She _hates_ Sirius Black and his attractive smirks and his open laughter…

"Ah, speaking of my friends," James begins, "I think they might be jealous that I was officially invited to one of these things. Sirius was moping around all evening, trying to get me to smuggle him in."

At this, Vivian turns to stare at him with narrowed eyes, suddenly quite fearful that perhaps he'd succeeded. "Please tell me he's not here."

Lily looks equally wary. She had, after all, given James the go-ahead to come up with a Plan B, just in case their night doesn't go as planned. She dearly hopes that said backup plan hadn't involved yet another Marauder crashing session.

James just glances over at Vivian and smirks. "Why? Worried that dear old Padfoot will ruin your evening, Blair?" He sends Lily a look that Vivian doesn't see, because she's too busy pushing her chin up and scoffing.

"First of all, that nickname is literally the stupidest thing ever, and second, seeing as he loves ruining my life, yes, I am worried," Vivian declares, and takes a large sip of her pumpkin juice.

Now normally, James would jump to defend his best mate's sacred nickname, bestowed upon him by joint effort on the part of their dishonorable Marauder brothership. This time, however, he has more important things to think about than Sirius's official Marauder pseudonym. Pushing his glasses up, he shrugs, "I don't think his goal is to ruin your life, Blair." Then he nudges Lily to prompt her to agree (even though she most definitely doesn't).

"Right! He's clearly obsessed with you," she blurts, then sees James's cringing expression and hastily rectifies, "I mean that in a good way. Sort of like how an immature boy bullies the girl he likes because it's the only way he can get her attention – "

"What Lily is trying to say is that he thinks your fit," James nods.

Lily shoots him an annoyed look. "No. What I _meant_ to say is that he likes her for reasons that go beyond physical beauty."

"Yeah, but being good looking is an important aspect of attraction," James argues.

"What you're suggesting is that Sirius only likes her because she's nice to look at," Lily argues back.

"I'm not saying that at all! I'm saying – wait, where'd she go?" James wonders, suddenly realizing that Vivian is no longer standing beside them. They both turn to see that she had crossed the room during their dispute, and is now standing with her fellow Slytherins near the hearth.

"Okay this isn't working," Lily growls.

James immediately responds with a breezy, "Relax, Lily, that was only our first attempt."

"She obviously doesn't want to talk about Sirius," she returns.

"That's only because she's so in love with him that she doesn't know what to say," he shrugs.

Lily turns to skewer him with an annoyed look. "No, that's _not_ the reason. _If_ she does like him, she obviously wouldn't want to admit it. She's spent her whole life hating him because he's always been a prat to her, so she won't just come out and admit that her whole perspective has changed just like that." She snaps her fingers into his face to prove her point.

James pushes her hand away and, hardly looking concerned, says, "I wouldn't be so sure. If she likes Sirius even a _little_ bit, she'll admit it. Trust me."

Lily doesn't trust him at all, though, and his confident words only make her all the more suspicious. She narrows her eyes on him, but James is already expecting her reaction and merely says, "This is _your_ plan, Lily. You got her to agree to hang out with you tonight so get going." He sends her an innocent smile and prods her towards where Vivian is now standing. "I'll just be over here, _away_ from the Slytherins. Have fun!"

With that, he backs away, intent on making a quick escape. As he goes, he quickly adds, "Oh – also, I'd stick to water tonight, Evans."

The smile he sends her then in slightly less innocent, but Lily has no time to question what he's talking about – or, indeed, why she suddenly wonders why the mischievous smirk looks so appealingly daring upon his face.

Thankfully, they all sit down to dinner soon, and Lily is able to snag the chair next to Vivian before one of her Slytherin friends gets the chance. It isn't necessarily strange to see a Gryffindor and a Slytherin sitting next to each other at one of these parties. After all, Slughorn does invite people from other houses and there are only so many chairs. The boundaries between houses are inevitably going to be blurred. Just…usually not _so_ much.

"Well this is nice," James smiles as he takes the chair on Vivian's other side, effectively blocking her in. He sends an unfriendly look at the Slytherin who had been about to take said chair before he'd swooped in and stole it, then glances around Vivian's figure to catch Lily's eye. "I'd rather sit next to you, of course, but – "

"Then by all means," Vivian growls, and abruptly stands up to trade seats with him.

James flaps his mouth a bit, not expecting her to call him out so directly, and hedges, "Oh…er…I mean I would, but…I'm closer to the gravy, see?" He blindly waves his hand at said gravy, which is currently sitting in front of his plate, and sends Vivian a cheerful smile.

She grits her teeth and repeats, "The gravy."

Luckily he is saved from having to explain his apparent love of gravy by Slughorn himself, who calls everyone to attention with a pleasant, "Let's all sit down, there we go…now Whitlock, you were telling me about your father's position at the Ministry…"

Vivian, suddenly realizing that she's the only one standing, collapses back into her chair and sends James a glowering look. Narcissa catches her eye across the table, raising an eyebrow at her predicament, but Vivian is too annoyed to do anything but angrily reach for the mashed potatoes. She fills her plate with a vengeful energy, trying to ignore the fact that she's got two Gryffindors sitting on either side of her.

"So are you ready for the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, Blair? I hope you're prepared to be crushed," James gleefully says, and grabs the bowl of mashed potatoes from her before she's done with them.

She glares at him and, as she reaches for the bowl of vegetables, sneers, "The _Slytherin_-Gryffindor match? Of course I'm ready. We've been practicing nearly nonstop all month."

Well that's sort of a lie, actually, considering Vivian's nightly detentions. Avery's had to reschedule most of their after-dinner practices on the account of her not being able to attend them. The last week has been full of intense early morning exercises and drills, which certainly hasn't made her life any easier. What with the match coming up in just a few days, though, she hadn't had much of a say in the matter.

The usual rivalry that takes place between Slytherin and Gryffindor before a Quidditch match has been even worse than normal, because of the fact that Gryffindor's team has also had to change up their practice schedule due to Sirius's nightly detentions. There's been many mornings in which both teams thought they had scheduled the pitch and many arguments have sprouted up as a result.

James, who happens to be the Captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team in addition to Head Boy (honestly, Dumbledore's clearly off his rocker), puffs out his chest and declares, "So have we. Just wait, you'll be shocked to see some of the new plays I've come up with." Then he grabs the bowl of vegetables from Vivian's hands – _before she's done_ – and scoops some onto his plate.

Vivian clenches her jaw and angrily reaches for the plate of roast beef. Fucking prat.

"Sirius has also come up with some really good ideas," James adds. He glances around Vivian's form to wonder, "Vegetables, Lily?"

Lily shoots him a look from behind Vivian's head, as if she's silently asking him what the hell he's doing. It happens to be a look that James is very familiar with. He just winks at her.

"In fact," he continues, turning his attention back to Vivian, "I think my Beaters might give you a run for your money this time around, Blair. Just the other day when Sirius was coming out of the shower, he had this great idea about – well I guess I can't divulge team secrets, can I? – anyway he gets his _best_ ideas in the shower."

He reaches for the plate of roast beef. Vivian, though, is prepared this time and shoves it at him before he's got a proper grip on it. The resulting splash of marinade on his poorly knotted tie is enough to draw much of the table's attention, which Vivian considers a victory.

"Careful there, Potter! No need to get so excited, there's plenty to go around," Slughorn calls in his usual mellow voice, before turning back to Whitlock to continue his conversation.

James sends Vivian a sullen look before his eyes catch onto Lily's, who is leaning back in her chair and mouthing something at him.

'_The shower?'_ she's silently demanding, looking unimpressed with his line of thought. He shrugs at her and mouths back, _'It's sexy!'_ Needless to say, she doesn't look like she agrees.

Vivian doesn't either, of course. _Obviously,_ the thought of Sirius Black in the shower isn't a thought she wants to linger on. As if she needs to have _that_ disgusting mental image in her head - dripping black hair messily strewn into his eyes, gloriously bare skin and – right, definitely not.

"Speaking of Sirius," Lily primly takes over, shooting James another glowering look, "I think he fancies someone. He wouldn't tell me who, though."

"Well of course he wouldn't," James laughs. "A bloke doesn't just _admit_ something like that."

Vivian spears a bite of roast beef and chews in adamant silence, trying to ignore them both as she shoves down mental images of Sirius in the shower. On her other side, Lily leans forward to send James a stern look.

"Why not? Is it not _manly_ enough to be honest with your feelings or something?" she demands.

James splutters for half a second before returning, "It's just that – what if the girl in question doesn't like you back? I mean, no bloke in his right mind would talk about his feelings unless he was _absolutely sure_ that they were returned."

Lily snorts. "Oh right, so instead, _the_ _bloke_ just annoys the girl he likes until he wears her down, is that it?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all – "

"Would you both shut up? I'm trying to eat," Vivian complains, thoroughly unimpressed with their constant arguments. Honestly, if she didn't know any better, she'd say they were seconds away from jumping each other what with all this pent-up energy. It's exhausting to watch.

Her grousing comment works though. The two of them abruptly fall silent, turning back to their meals with petulant expressions, as if they've been scolded by their mothers or something. _Gryffindors_.

"Ah, so Potter, this is your first time attending one of my dinners, isn't it? How are you liking the meal?" Slughorn suddenly asks from across the table. As James lifts his head and responds to Slughorn, Vivian leans back in her chair and grabs her pumpkin juice, slinging back its contents. James watches her from the corner of his eye and presses down a smirk as he spins some bullshit about how honored he is to be here tonight and how much he respects Slughorn and his incredible taste. Slughorn, naturally, looks quite pleased with being on the receiving end of his compliments.

"I've always thought that Gryffindors were an excellent bunch, really," Slughorn is saying. "Sometimes I wish I was Head of Gryffindor house instead, to be honest!" Every Slytherin in the room turns to stare at him. Slughorn seems rather surprised at himself for having said that, and splutters, "I mean…I'm not entirely sure why I…anyway, erm, Mr. Malfoy, I hear you're looking to follow in your father's footsteps at the Ministry as well!"

Vivian raises an eyebrow and shoots Narcissa a look from across the table. She shrugs in return as her betrothed sits up straighter and begins to explain his future career path. After a few minutes of continuous boasting, even Slughorn looks a bit bored.

" – And then once we graduate, Narcissa and I will be married. I'm quite lucky, you know. There aren't a lot of people who can handle some of my more peculiar desires," Lucius says, then abruptly stops talking and blinks in surprise. The whole table turns to blink at him as well, including a very bewildered Slughorn and a very amused James.

"What are these peculiar desires, Malfoy?" James drawls, resting his chin on his hand.

Lucius seems quite disgusted that James Potter has just spoken to him directly. He clamps his mouth shut tightly, lips drawn into a firm line as he glares over at Potter with narrowed eyes. Vivian stares at his reddening face with as much bafflement as everyone else, wondering why it looks like he's struggling to not blurt out more information about said desires. It almost seems as if he has no control of his words.

Before he can further sully the dinner conversation with said information, though, Slughorn clears his throat and proclaims, "Well, I think it's about time we clear our plates and dig into dessert!" He looks quite ruffled at Lucius's random topic change and seems very much ready to pretend it had never happened at all. To be fair, so are the rest of them – except James himself, who looks a bit upset that Lucius hadn't completely embarrassed himself to the point of no return.

With a sigh, James leans back and grumbles, "Shame…" as their dinner plates and whisked away by several house-elves. Vivian firmly ignores him, as usual, and instead listens in on several other conversations being had nearby. Now that she's taking notice of it, she finds that it's rather odd how people are so relaxed this evening. Words fly from their mouths without filter; admissions are brought to light that would not normally be so easily confessed. For example, just three chairs down, Jenna is saying something about how she often pays people to do her assignments for her, and seems to accidentally admit that she thinks Professor Anderson is fit. Everyone seems to be freer with their words than usual, including Slughorn himself, who is even now saying something about how he'd only invited some of his old students to his Slug Club gatherings because he knew they would be able to get him free tickets to Quidditch matches and the like.

Before Vivian can linger on this strange realization, though, dessert is being served and fresh glasses of their chosen drinks are being administered. At her side, James takes a bite of the sugary confections on their plates and sighs, "Not nearly as good as my mum's, don't you agree, Blair?"

Vivian immediately clenches her fingers around her fork and spears him with a glare, but the damage has already been done. Well, sort of. Thankfully – or not – Lily had been the only person to take notice of James's words, because everyone else is engaging in other conversations. Since the majority of students here are in Slytherin house, it's only natural that they would completely ignore the stray Gryffindors on account of pride.

"Shut up, Potter," Vivian mutters, half tempted to take his stupid dessert and shove it into his face.

James just sniffs and drawls, "I'm still upset that you never thanked my mum for that night, to be honest. It was awfully rude of you to just leave like you did. Sirius was beside himself the whole day, worrying about you."

Throughout his little speech, Vivian's mouth opens to snap at him once more. However, mention of Sirius's apparent concern surprises her enough to quell the words that want to fly free, and she just turns and stares at him without saying a word. Lily, however, has plenty to say.

"You stayed at Potter's house?" she whispers, cognizant at least to keep her voice down. They aren't exactly in good company to speak about these sorts of things.

James leans forward to look at Lily and whispers back, "She stayed in Sirius's _bedroom,_ Lily. By the way, Blair, how did you feel about that? Did it bring up any particular emotions? Thoughts? _Urges?"_

Vivian's eyebrow twitches of its own accord. "I have the _urge_ to shove your face into the chocolate cake."

James has the decency to at least know when she's being deathly serious, and this is most certainly one of those times.

"Right," he clears his throat. "Just wondering."

Dessert is blissfully silent after that, though Lily keeps shooting her strange looks throughout, as if she's trying to work out what had caused Vivian to end up at James Potter's house, of all places. Unfortunately for her, Vivian has no intention of telling her the reasons – but she wouldn't put it past Potter to spill everything to her. As long as it doesn't get around the school, though, Vivian can't claim that she cares all that much. That said, she does keep thinking about James's words about Sirius being worried. She can't stop remembering how he had approached her on the train back to Hogwarts and asked her if she was alright. The smallest twinge of regret overtakes her as she thinks about how she had snapped at him and told him to get away from her. She tries her best to wrangle it down.

It's hard though, because even though she's quite sure that she hates Sirius Black and his stupid smiles and annoyingly adorable penchant for gushing about muggle rock bands, there's still a part of her that –

No. There's not. She hates him. It's an immutable fact of life.

"Okay Blair, look, I'm just going to come out and ask it," James suddenly says as the dessert is being cleared away and people are getting up from the table. He pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. As far as he's concerned, the dinner hadn't gone as planned at all. This is his last chance to salvage it before everyone leaves. He opens his mouth to ask her, plain and simple, if she fancies his best mate. The words are just beginning to leave his mouth when, across the way, a most unexpected distraction comes to light in the form of one Lucius Malfoy.

"For the last time, Narcissa, I'm not going to cut my hair. It makes me feel chic and trendy," Lucius blurts out, seemingly in response to something his betrothed had just said.

James's question is completely forgotten as everyone turns to stare at him, watching his expression fade from snappish frustration to intense embarrassment. There's something rather odd about seeing his porcelain skin turn redder than a tomato.

Now, just so everyone is on the same page, here's the thing about Slytherins: yes, they are loyal to their own. Yes, they view Lucius as the epitome of good breeding and idealistic elitisms. Yes, a good portion of Slytherin house wishes they could be as powerful and as accomplished as him. However, with all of that said, it takes about three seconds for the entire room (minus one befuddled Slughorn) to collapse into laughter at his expense. Regardless of their appreciation for Lucius Malfoy, a true and proper Slytherin would never let what he has just said be swept under the rug that easily.

"_Chic and trendy?"_ Avery snorts, snickering loudly. He slaps Lucius on the back as if he's thanking him for the laugh, and guffaws, "I'm never gonna forget this."

Indeed, the other Slytherins in the room are in perfect agreement. The few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students in attendance seem too afraid to laugh at someone like Lucius Malfoy, but James has no such qualms. His laughter is the loudest, and in the wake of it, he's completely forgotten what he had been about to ask Vivian.

All in all, and despite the fact that his plan hadn't exactly gone as he'd hoped, James Potter considers tonight to be a success. Until, of course, it all backfires on him.

He hadn't told Lily his backup plan because she would probably kill him if she knew about it (it does sort of verge on the illegal, after all). So when she blindly reaches over to grasp Vivian's goblet of pumpkin juice, thinking that it's her water, he nearly trips over himself to stop her. But alas, it's too late.

Vivian is quite confused when Lily turns to a suddenly panicked James, twists her expression into one of bewilderment, and blurts, "You're actually pretty fit, James."

The moment these words are said, Lily's bewilderment takes a sharp turn into shocked disorientation. Vivian turns to gape at her. James's eyes widen into saucers, hand pausing in midair to snatch the goblet away from her.

"Really?" James asks, as if he can't quite believe it.

Lily can't either. She struggles for a long moment, appearing to battle with her words, before Vivian raises an eyebrow and elegantly plucks the goblet from her hands. She glances down into it with a curious expression, then back up into Lily's face, and drawls, "Well Potter, it looks like someone actually _can_ stand to be around you. Shocking."

Her words seem to snap James out of his awed stupor. He turns to stare at Vivian and opens his mouth to interrogate her one last time, but before he can –

Lily grabs a fistful of James's shirt and drags him off, voice descending into a hissed, "You _didn't_ spike the pumpkin juice with Veritaserum. Tell me you didn't."

James flaps his mouth at her.

"That's illegal," Lily snaps.

"Yeah, but – "

"Vivian would _murder_ you if she found out you were trying to get her to confess under these kinds of circumstances."

"Right, but you – "

"If this is your Plan B, I hate to think what else you have in mind for our stupid deal."

" – think I'm fit," James grins.

Lily abruptly stops talking. Her face, already reddened from anger, becomes even more red as embarrassment floods over it. James takes one look at said embarrassment and clears his throat, feeling suddenly guilty.

"You weren't supposed to drink it," he mumbles, shuffling his feet. "Besides, it's a diluted form…just loosens the tongue a bit…"

Lily opens her mouth to tell him off, then seems to decide against it and just growls, "We'll discuss this later, after it's _worn off."_ Then she sends him a truly terrifying glare and stomps out of the room without another word.

James watches forlornly as she disappears. He doesn't even notice Vivian sidling up to him, because he's too busy mourning his failed plan and the way it had utterly backfired on him.

"You must be the most hopeless idiot on the planet," Vivian says breezily as she walks past him, and takes her leave, too, thankfully none the wiser.

James just groans and hangs his head.

* * *

The Gryffindor common room is just as cheerful as ever when James drags himself into it some fifteen minutes later. There's still an hour or so before curfew, and the room is full of the usual buoyant voices of fellow students as they work on assignments and talk amongst themselves. James catches sight of Remus sitting in front of the fire, but he isn't much in the mood for conversation. Sure, hearing Lucius Malfoy talk about his _chic and trendy_ hairstyle had been extremely amusing, but his mirth had been dialed down some by Lily's realization and ultimate anger at his underhanded use of Veritaserum. Instead of going over to join Remus, James just grouchily heads up the stairs of the boy's dormitories.

Peter and Sirius are in the dorm already. They had apparently decided to make a trip to the kitchens in James's absence, for their side of the room is currently strewn with late-night snacks. Pumpkin pasties wrappers, half-eaten fudge, and what looks likes like a near empty box of jelly slugs litter the floor near Sirius's bed. The two of them are passing a bag of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans between them, purposefully choosing the worst looking jelly beans and trying to one-up each other with their disgust. It's a relatively normal sight, except of course for James's _abnormal_ mood as he joins the scene.

They glance up at him as he enters the room and makes a beeline for his bed, flopping face-first onto the mattress with a muffled groan. Peter raises a clueless eyebrow at Sirius, who shrugs just as cluelessly.

"Rough night?" Sirius drawls, half-tempted to toss a puce colored bean at James's head. He refrains, though, because it looks particularly foul and therefore may just secure his victory in Peter's proposed game of 'Who Can Eat the Worst Jelly Bean'. With a hum, he pops it in his mouth instead and immediately grimaces. "Hmm…vomit after a night of firewhiskey," he says matter-of-factly. Peter makes a face.

James rolls over and bemoans, "Lily hates me."

His friends don't appear very sympathetic. In fact, to claim that they are surprised to hear such a declaration would be a stretch, because Lily Evans has hated James Potter for ages now. It's one of those immutable facts of life.

"Yup," Sirius agrees.

"That sounds pretty normal," Peter inputs.

James groans again. "No, you don't get it. I think she might actually kill me. I reckon we should lock the door tonight just in case she comes in here to murder me in my sleep."

Peter and Sirius exchange dry expressions.

"Right. What did you do this time?" Sirius wonders, tossing Peter a red bean.

Peter catches it in his mouth, chews, and around a sudden influx of watery eyes, chokes out, "Paprika."

Sirius gives him a cringing look in response.

James laments, "I only snuck into Slughorn's storeroom to nab some Veritaserum. I don't know why she's so upset."

Peter, waving a hand in front of his face as he recovers from the taste of paprika, repeats, "Veritaserum? That's illegal."

Sirius makes a sound of agreement as he searches for the most disgusting looking bean he can find, and adds, "Yeah, I can't believe you did something illegal without me. How rude."

James mutters, "Anyway, so what if I spiked the drinks? I _told_ her to stick to the water."

Sirius pops a black bean into his mouth and hums, "Soy sauce. I was expecting something way worse."

Peter shrugs, "Sometimes they can be deceiving."

"Too true, Wormtail," Sirius agrees.

"I should be happy since she said she thought I was fit, you know?" James sighs. "Maybe it would've worked out if I'd been able to get Blair to admit she likes you, Padfoot, but that – "

"Wait, what?" Sirius interrupts, turning around to stare at his friend with a confused expression. "Okay hold on. Are you saying that you stole Veritaserum in order to interrogate Vivian?" There's an odd tone to his voice. It's almost protective, but also slightly curious, as if he's dying to know what had happened. His game with Peter is put on hold as he waits for James to continue complaining about his night.

James shrugs and mutters, "Well yeah, obviously. As your best mate, it's my responsibility to ensure that she's good for you."

Sirius opens his mouth, then closes it. He seems both impressed with James's loyalty and frustrated at his solo scheme. "Well what happened?" he demands after a moment spent struggling with these opposing emotions. He stares at James with a raised eyebrow as Peter continues munching on Bertie Botts beans.

James mumbles, "Well Lily and I decided to team up, but – "

"You just ended up arguing with each other instead," Sirius finishes knowingly.

James spears him with a look, but ultimately just mutters, "…Yeah."

Sirius shakes his head at Peter, who rolls his eyes and says, "So you basically wasted the Veritaserum."

James starts nodding, but then stops and smirks. He pulls himself to the edge of his bed and snickers, "Well it wasn't a total waste, Wormtail. I got Malfoy to spew something about how he thinks his hair is – how'd he phrase it? – _chic and trendy."_

Peter immediately bursts out into matching snickers. Sirius smirks widely as well and shrugs, "Well then, your efforts tonight weren't completely useless, Prongs. I'm sure Lily will forgive you eventually."

The reminder of Lily's anger makes James's laugher transform into yet another mournful groan. He rolls away from the edge of his mattress to bury his face into his pillow and mumble, "If she had only stuck to the water…"

In the midst of his mumbled regrets, the door opens and Remus steps into the room. He takes one look at James and rolls his eyes. "Lily just stormed her way through the common room cursing your name, James. You might want to avoid her for a while."

James lets out another muffled groan as Remus casts a dubious glance at Sirius and Peter, no doubt wondering what he'd missed. After a moment, though, he seems to decide that he probably doesn't want to know, and just shakes his head as he gathers some things for a shower.

"I told you that attending that Slug Club dinner was a bad idea," Sirius says after Remus has shut himself into the bathroom. He watches as James blindly reaches over to his side table, where the map is currently sitting, and adds, "Nothing good ever comes from cozying up to professors."

Peter nods in agreement. "Yeah, and there are too many Slytherins at those things anyway."

"It's a bad idea all around," Sirius declares, and turns back to the Bertie Botts to continue the game. "Hey Pete, this one looks like it might be pretty – "

"Speaking of Slytherins, why is Blair lurking around the third floor?" James suddenly wonders, catching sight of her name as he's flipping through the map in his search of one Lily Evans. His sudden question makes everyone pause.

"Huh? There's nothing on the third floor," Sirius says, getting up to look at the map.

Peter scurries after him. "Well, besides the passageway to the Forbidden Forest," he says, settling on James's bed to look over Sirius's shoulder.

"Right, but she's nowhere near Pollock the Persevering. She's in some random classroom," James says, pointing her out. His thoughts of Lily lessen as he wonders what Blair could possibly be doing. There's no reason to go to the third floor. It's all empty corridors and cobwebs. The only time the Marauders ever bother venturing into it is when they need to take the secret passageway, which they don't use all that often because it leads relatively deep into the Forest.

"Maybe she's meeting someone for a snog," Peter suggests, and then promptly clears his throat at the look Sirius shoots him. _"What?_ Why else would she be there?" he defends.

Sirius scoffs and adamantly says, "There's got to be another reason."

But the more he thinks about it, the less certain he is. After all, why _else_ would she be in that part of the castle, right after Slughorn's dinner party? Maybe she _is_ meeting someone.

Brows furrowed, he mutters, "Give me that," and grabs the map from James's hands.

"Oi, I was looking for Lily," James complains as Sirius makes his way over to his own bed.

Sirius rolls his eyes and says, "She's probably stewing in her room, thinking of ways to murder you for dosing her with Veritaserum."

James groans and turns to once again face-plant into his pillow. His voice is pathetically muffled when he bemoans, "It was an _accident."_

"…You dosed Lily with Veritaserum?" comes Remus's voice from the bathroom doorway. He runs a towel through his hair and sends James a look. "No wonder she was cursing at you."

James doesn't deign to respond, and Remus just sighs and gets into bed before drawing his curtains closed, evidently having had enough Marauder drama for one day. Sirius, though, has not. He's determined to find out who Vivian is meeting, and what makes someone _else_ better than _him_, and he ends up sitting in bed with the map late into the night, battling with the desire to go to the third floor himself and risk the potential wrath of an angry Vivian Blair…

As for the ramifications of these thoughts, they don't come until he watches Vivian begin to make her way back to the Slytherin common room several hours after curfew, having met no one and having only paced through the empty classroom without venturing any further into the third floor. And it's only as he's closing the map that he realizes something:

The thought of Vivian being with someone else upsets him. He wouldn't claim, after everything he's done to her over the years, that he deserves her. But in that moment, he realizes that he _wants_ to deserve her.

He watches her enter the Slytherin commons with a contemplative expression, and stares at her name for a while longer before murmuring, "Mischief managed," and turning out the light. But he can't easily turn out the thoughts that shift through his mind, as he wonders how his perspective of Vivian Blair could have changed so much in such a short amount of time.

Deep inside, he knows the reason for this, but – love is a perilous thing, and Gryffindors aren't brave _all_ of the time.


	45. In ambiguo

**Chapter Forty Five | In ambiguo**

**[In doubt]**

"AND HERE WE ARE, LADIES AND GENTS! THE MATCH WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! LET'S DO A QUICK RECAP AS OUR TWO TEAMS LINE UP ON THE PITCH! RAVENCLAW IS CURRENTLY IN THE LEAD FOR THE QUIDDITCH CUP WITH GRYFFINDOR IN CLOSE SECOND, FOLLOWED BY SLYTHERIN AND THEN HUFFLEPUFF! THIS MATCH WILL EITHER KNOCK GRYFFINDOR DOWN A FEW PEGS OR PROVE THAT THE SLYTHERIN TEAM IS SHITE!"

Vivian rolls her eyes as she adjusts her hair, tugging it into place to ensure that it doesn't get in her eyes during the match. The Slytherin and Gryffindor teams are both facing each other on the pitch, waiting for Madam Hooch to release the balls. Avery and James step towards each other to offer the usual pre-game handshake, but as expected, neither of them looks all that pleased to be forced into such pleasantries. As Hooch clicks open the case that holds the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Snitch, they end up glaring at each other. They both look to be struggling with something that the female race likes to refer to as stupidity à la testosterone.

With everything going on in her personal life, Quidditch is really the least of Vivian's concerns. The match between Slytherin and Gryffindor has been postponed to the last week of January. One of the Gryffindor's Chasers' parents had been brutally murdered by the Dark Lord's followers just before Christmas, and they hadn't wanted to use one of their reserves for such an important game. The postponement had thrown off the Quidditch Cup schedule somewhat, but Vivian is just as glad for it. She's had enough to think about without the addition of this.

To be honest, she's been seriously considering dropping off the team altogether. These days, it's like she doesn't even have time to breathe, let alone all the other things she has going on. Besides classes, there's prefect meetings and patrols, assignments to do, Quidditch practices to attend, and the issue of her task, which definitely serves to throw off everything else.

Vivian has no idea what to do about it. She knows, deep down, that the only way to get out of her predicament is to remove herself from her current lifestyle entirely, which is precisely why she hasn't yet been able to. For all of Sirius's buoyant words about how Dumbledore would be able to sweep in and help her carve out a new life for herself, she still doesn't believe it will be that easy. She's also more than a little afraid of venturing into the unknown like that. She isn't a risk-taker. She doesn't have the same carefree spontaneity that would make such a decision an easy one. She wants to be free from this task and her impending marriage, but like any proper Slytherin, she isn't about to take an action that isn't thought through. Calculated risks are one thing, but suddenly turning on her own house while she's still in such a vulnerable position within said house is practically a death sentence.

The only way she can imagine getting out of this is if she waits until graduation before taking action. She has to think about her own safety. She's too near to Mulciber and his friends to expect that they'll just let her do whatever she wants. It would be far wiser to pretend to go along with their plans and then, at the ideal moment, take her leave of them once and for all. There's only one problem with this: her task.

She'd thought that she had until graduation to present the Dark Lord with this spell, but if Regulus is correct, then she only has a few weeks at most. She has no other choice but to complete her task and play the subservient role for now, until she sees the opportunity to save herself from well and truly becoming a part of that life. She doubts that the Dark Lord would make her take the Dark Mark before she graduates, if he even wants her to take it at all. She's not as fanatical as Mulciber or Avery and, as far as she knows, the only reason the Dark Lord is interested in her at all is because her father had bragged to him about her talent for creating spells. She's sure that he wouldn't even remember her existence if not for that.

"I want a clean match today. No funny business or you'll all be sorry," Hooch warns. Though she doesn't turn to address the Slytherin team directly, it's clear that she's speaking mainly to them. The Gryffindor team leers at them in amusement, but it hardly intimidates Vivian's teammates. They leer right back, smirking widely at Hooch's warning and promptly brushing it aside.

As Avery and James grapple with a handshake that looks somewhat painful, the rest of them mount their brooms. Vivian can't hear what the two Captains are saying, but she imagines that the low words they're firing off at each other aren't as outwardly pleasant as the handshake. Her eyes drift over their figures idly as she prepares to shoot into the air…and abruptly land on a pair of grey eyes from across the way. The momentary surprise she feels upon realizing that Sirius Black is watching her fades somewhat when he raises an eyebrow at her sends her a competitive smirk. After that, the only thing she feels is annoyance.

Right – annoyance. Because she hates Sirius Black and everything he does makes her angry, and that's all there is to it. She makes sure to send him an imperious look in response, though it doesn't seem to faze him much. His smirk becomes slightly less sharp. It has a strangely dizzying effect on her, so she looks away.

This is an important game. Whoever wins will be one step closer to winning the Quidditch Cup. The losing team will be behind until their next play-off. They won't be completely out of the running for the Cup, but it will be much harder to secure a place in the final matches. Despite the urgency of a win, though, Vivian just wants to get this over with. Her heart isn't really in the match.

Still, it all feels so blissfully normal as the game begins. The Gryffindor stands erupt into loud cheers when their team manages to score first, and the inter-house rivalry is at its finest when Avery slams into one of the Gryffindors Chasers and makes a show of pretending that it had been an accident. While everyone is distracted, Morrigan and their fellow teammate Anthony Lloyd gets a goal in, and Slytherin house cheers even louder than the Gryffindors had, some minutes before.

Slytherin is definitely on top of their game today. Her teammates are being particularly ruthless. Fifteen minutes into the game, Hooch calls a foul when Mulciber sends his Beater's bat into Potter's face. Unlike Avery, he doesn't try to make it look like an accident and just sneers, "Watch where you're flying, Potter," before turning his broom to the ground to collect his bat. The Gryffindors are a bit more ruthless as well, after that, but not even they can quite live up to the energy that the Slytherin team is bringing to the game.

"50/20 WITH SLYTHERIN IN THE LEAD!" the commentator informs the stadium. "AS USUAL THE SLYTHERINS ARE BEING COMPLETE TOSSERS – RIGHT, SORRY PROFESSOR! SO FAR GRYFFINDOR HAS ONLY MANAGED TO SCORE ONCE, BESIDES THE TEN POINTS FOR THAT FOUL – FLINT IS NOW IN POSSESSION OF THE QUAFFLE, SHE'S HEADING DOWN THE PITCH…LEIGHTON TRIES TO INTERCEPT BUT FLINT BYPASSES AND – SCORES AGAIN, FUCK! OH, SORRY PROFESSOR, IT JUST CAME OUT – "

The Gryffindor Keeper seems to be having a difficult time today, because Slytherin ends up scoring again not five minutes later. The Slytherin Chasers team up and trick him into thinking they're aiming for the right hoop, but at the last minute, Lloyd passes the Quaffle to Avery and he tosses it into the leftmost hoop instead. The Slytherin stands go absolutely wild.

"SLYTHERIN, SLYTHERIN, SLYTHERIN!" they chant, and make sure to insert plenty of insults against Gryffindor in between their words.

The commentator, who happens to be in Gryffindor himself, is equally impassioned when he cries, "WHERE ARE OUR BEATERS WHEN YOU NEED THEM HUH?! SLYTHERIN SEEMS TO BE USING SOME SORT OF TACTIC TO KEEP THE BLUDGERS TO THEMSELVES. THE GRYFFINDOR CHASERS ARE DISTRACTED TRYING TO STAY AWAY FROM THEM."

Mauve and Mulciber are, indeed, using such a tactic. Granted, trying to control the Bludgers isn't a simple thing, because they tend to have a mind of their own, but the Slytherin Beaters are succeeding so far. They've fallen into a sort of zig-zagging flying pattern as they hit the Bludgers back and forth between them, targeting as many Gryffindor players as they can. Their flying is tight enough to make it difficult for Sirius or his fellow Beater, Brent Morley, to intercept and throw the pattern off. As such, the Gryffindor Chasers are having a hard time focusing on anything besides avoiding being hit by the Bludgers, and Slytherin is having a field day because of it. Within the next ten minutes, they manage to score four more times.

"90/20! SLYTHERIN LEAD!" the commentator announces, sounding rather miffed.

Vivian makes sure she keeps one eye on Potter as she continues her search for the

Snitch. So far, she's seen no sign of it, and when the sky opens up and snow begins to fall lightly onto the pitch, she becomes rather worried that the turn in weather might impact her search. She stays somewhat removed from the game, not willing to get too mixed up in the chaos that her teammates are enacting below, and pauses in her flying to adjust the leather gloves she had donned before the match.

It's freezing out, and the chill of the wind isn't making things any easier. She's shivering as she turns her broom towards the stands, squinting against the falling snow in hopes of seeing the Snitch hovering near the spectators. Potter isn't too far away, apparently having decided to stick relatively close to her in case she sees the Snitch before him. With the snow now falling around them, it's getting harder to see. She reckons he must be taking precautions.

"How's your face, Potter?" she calls as she's flying over the Ravenclaw stands. She glances around to catch sight of Gavin but doesn't see him in the sea of blue, and promptly gets distracted when James drops down beside her on his broom, joining her mid-flight.

His only response is a smug, "Still pretty, I'm sure!" over the bracing wind.

Vivian feels an amused smile press along the edges of her mouth despite her efforts to keep a straight face. A quick glance at him tells her that he's being a tad overconfident. He's got one hell of a black eye, curtesy of one Adrian Mulciber. It's swollen something awful, hindering his sight and giving him a strange squinted appearance. One of the lenses of his glasses has cracked as well, hindering his sight even more. He doesn't seem overly bothered by it though, at least not to the point of calling for a time-out to attend to his injury.

"Are you going to follow me around the whole pitch?" she calls after a minute or so. He's still flying beside her, and she's quite sure that it's just one of his tactics to get the Snitch before her. There's something about James Potter's energy that, while somewhat annoying, reminds her of a brilliant ray of sunshine. Sometimes it's blinding, but as she's flying through the January snow, there's a part of her that doesn't mind his presence. A small part, of course. He's still a prat most of the time.

James swerves slightly to avoid hitting a banner that a Hufflepuff student is waving and calls back, "It's better than getting in the way of your insane teammates! I can't believe they're getting away with this stunt!"

At this point, it's more than just a 'stunt'. Mauve is on fire today, and Mulciber – arsehole though he is – clearly knows how to play Quidditch. Her team is being especially cutthroat today, and they don't seem to be slowing down.

"I told you we'd crush you," she says with an amused glint in her eye.

James scoffs, "Game's not over yet, Blair."

She begins to say, "Yeah, but – " and then promptly stops talking, because that's when she sees a flash of gold zip across her peripheral vision. Immediately, she turns her head to see if she'd just been imagining it. They're still flying low to the stands, and the snow is beginning to fall even harder now. Her visibility is shit and she's half-convinced that the gold was from a wrist watch or a piece of jewelry – until she catches sight of the Snitch hovering about fifteen feet above them, between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff stands.

James doesn't yet realize that her attention has been diverted. With the black eye, cracked glasses, and heavy snowfall, he's currently not playing his best game. Of course, when Vivian abruptly swerves away from him without any explanation, he quickly catches on. Before long, they're neck-to-neck as they race through the Hufflepuff stands, swerving around banners and shrieking students. The Snitch begins to dart away from them, zipping around the tall pillared teachers' stands and trying to throw them off its course. It's as James and Vivian are shooting to the very top of said stand that the commentator seems to finally catch on to what's happening across the field.

"OUR TWO SEEKERS HAVE SEEN THE SNITCH! IF POTTER CAN CATCH IT, WE CAN PUT AN END TO THIS INSANE MATCH!"

Vivian's fellow teammates take full advantage of the distraction that the Snitch brings. Mauve and Avery manage to continue controlling the Bludgers, sending them at the Gryffindor Chasers, who are hard pressed to turn their attention anywhere else in their efforts to avoid being hit. The rest of the stands turn their eyes to the red and green streaks flying across the pitch in pursuit of the small golden ball, which is taking them on a wild goose chase above the stands. It weaves in and out of the rafters, darting between fluttering banners and around ducking students. Vivian accidentally knocks off Professor Anderson's hat when the Snitch zips right near his ear and then drops in a dead feint back down to the grassy pitch. The two Seekers follow its trajectory as best as they can in the snowy weather, struggling to overtake the other. By the time they both reach the grass, though, the Snitch has disappeared.

"AH LOOKS LIKE THEY'VE LOST SIGHT OF IT! A SHAME, TOO, SEEING AS – SLYTHERIN SCORES AGAIN! 120/30! C'MON GRYFFINDOR, YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THIS!"

It's clear that the commentator is being slightly ambitious, though. The Gryffindor team is clearly unprepared to handle the Slytherins today, because the more time that passes, the more they fall behind. James ends up drifting away from Vivian after the initial debacle with the Snitch, flying around on his own while she darts briefly through the game on her way towards the Gryffindor goal hoops. The Snitch seems to have completely disappeared, and it doesn't show itself again for another hour. By then, Gryffindor seems to have grown more accustomed to the Slytherin team's tactics. After a brief time-out to discuss the game, the Gryffindor Beaters are now busy trying to break up Avery and Mauve's tight zigzagging formation. So far, Sirius and his fellow Beater Morley have only managed to steal the Bludgers a few times, but it's enough to break up the Slytherins' strategy. It doesn't do them a whole lot of good though, because at that point, Slytherin is nearly one hundred and forty points above them. The current score is 180/40, with the Gryffindors falling far behind.

Gryffindor's only hope at this rate is the catch the Snitch, and they know it. James is back in the running after the time-out, having managed to repair his glasses. With a quick spell, Madam Pomfrey had taken down the swelling of his black eye, and though it will need proper healing after the game, his vision is much clearer. Vivian is all too aware of this as she dodges Bludgers and fellow Quidditch players, trying to locate the Snitch before him. At this point, her fingers are absolutely frozen around the handle of her broom and she hasn't been able to feel her toes for ages now. The wind has steadily grown into a howling tempest, flurrying the snow around the pitch and making the game nearly impossible to follow. The commentator does his best, but because it's so hard to see each individual player, he mainly settles on just keeping the score.

It happens about ten minutes later, when Vivian is flying around the side of the pitch in order to avoid the Bludgers (of which Mauve and Avery are desperately trying to control once more, with only limited luck). She's kept one eye trained on James throughout the match, and so when she sees him suddenly drop into a straight dive, she immediately leans forward to follow him. The problem with the Snitch's current location, as she soon discovers, is that it's in the very center of the game.

Now, in better weather conditions (and with less team rivalry), this wouldn't be an issue. The Snitch has a mind of its own and, in order to avoid being captured, it often goes where the most action is taking place. The problem doesn't lie with where the it is, but what else is happening in the center of the game. When Vivian drops down to pursue James, she drops right into the middle of the chaos, and a game between Gryffindor and Slytherin is _very_ chaotic.

If James gets the Snitch before she does, Gryffindor will win. An additional 150 points added onto their currently low score of 40 would just barely bring them above Slytherin's score of 180. That extra ten points would secure their win and end the game. Vivian pushes her broom ever faster through the chaotic game, spinning out of the way of one of the Gryffindor Chasers, ducking just in time to avoid being clobbered by the Quaffle as it zooms through the air, and just barely managing to drop down as Avery comes barreling past her to hit one of the Bludgers. She narrows her field of vision, focused entirely on catching up to James as he flies across the pitch. He's having just as much trouble avoiding obstacles as she is, but he had a head start and is much farther ahead than she is. Even now, he's reaching his hand out to grab the Snitch, which is fluttering manically in front of his broom as it attempts to throw him off course.

Vivian momentarily loses sight of James when one of her teammates comes crashing towards her. In the thickly falling snow, she doesn't see Lloyd until he's right at her side, and it's only instinct that makes her spin to the side in order to avoid crashing into him. When she rights her broom again several seconds later, she finds herself face to face with a Bludger that's hurtling towards her at breakneck speed. Now, what happens next is extremely confusing and rather difficult to follow, because it all happens so suddenly. One moment she's scrambling to avoid being bludgeoned by said Bludger, and the next, at the very last second, someone is crashing in front of her and taking the inevitable hit.

All thoughts of James and the Snitch leave her mind when she realizes that this person is wearing Gryffindor red. She hears a grunt of pain as the Bludger connects with his arm and sends him off his broom and into her. Vivian, so caught off guard by the abruptness of the situation, again acts on instinct. She grabs him, coming to a dead stop and trying to wrangle with the extra weight of his body. It's a lost cause, though, because a moment later she happens to glance down at who, exactly, she's holding onto, and the shock of her realization makes her let go of him entirely. The problem is that he hasn't let go of her, and so when he begins to fall, he takes her with him.

Thankfully, they are only about ten feet above the snowy pitch. They both end up tumbling into the snow with matching groans as the game continues above them.

"Bloody hell," Sirius groans as rolls onto his back, cringing as he cradles his arm against his chest. Vivian, whose confusion is slowly trickling away, scrambles up and finds herself at his side, a concerned expression blazing over her face.

"Are you okay?" she demands, reaching out but stopping herself from touching him at the last moment. Instead, she draws back slightly, realizes how out of character her concern is, and rearranges her expression into something slightly less worried. She doesn't want him thinking that she cares about him or anything.

Sirius opens his mouth to groan out a pained reply, but before he can even get one word out, the stands erupt into loud yells as the commentator shouts, "POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH BUT FLINT WAS ABLE TO SCORE ONE LAST POINT FOR SLYTHERIN. I'M SORRY TO SAY THAT THIS MEANS…SLYTHERIN WINS WITH A SCORE OF 190/180! BOLLOCKS!"

Sirius barely hear this, though, because to be honest…well, there's just something about Vivian Blair when she's worrying about him. He stares up at her with a strange light in his eyes. He's _almost_ able to ignore the pain of his broken arm when she looks at him like that.

"James caught the snitch," he hears himself mumble as he stares at her.

Vivian snorts, hesitantly brushing snow from his hair and scoffing, "But Slytherin won."

"Yeah…" he belatedly responds, and reaches up to capture her hand.

For a moment, it seems as if they're in a different world. The snow creates a sort of blanket around them, making it difficult to see anything else but each other. The howling wind diminishes the noise from the other students as they either complain or celebrate the results of the match. The other players are still in the process of wrangling down the Bludgers and Quaffle, and haven't noticed their two wayward teammates as of yet. There's a flurry of activity on all sides, but the falling snow makes it seem as if they're in their own separate bubble, a million miles away.

"Why are you holding my hand?" Vivian scowls, though the question is halfhearted. She tries to pull her fingers out of his hold, but he only tightens his grasp of her and smiles boyishly through the pain of his broken arm, which is beginning to thud through him more adamantly as the adrenaline leaves his system.

"Cause I want to," he responds, and tucks her fingers against his Quidditch robes.

Vivian snaps her eyes to his. Her complaints die on her tongue when she catches sight of the way he's looking at her. It's difficult to describe because she's never seen him look like this before, but it's warm and pleasant and affectionate, and even though it's freezing outside and there's snow falling onto their figures, she suddenly feels inexplicably flushed.

Her tongue feels heavy when she slowly inquires, "And why did you stop that Bludger from hitting me?"

She feels even more flushed when he sends her a crooked smile and smugly repeats, "Cause I wanted to."

Clearly, he's not in his right mind. Before Vivian can snap him out of whatever stupor he's in, though, James lands several feet away and comes barreling towards his fallen friend.

"Padfoot! Are you alive? How many fingers am I holding up?" he exclaims, dropping to the ground beside Sirius and shoving his hand into his friend's face. Vivian immediately wrangles herself out of Sirius's grip and shuffles back, abruptly uncomfortable now that the rest of the Gryffindor team seems to be following James's lead. As they drop down to check on their Beater, she loses sight of Sirius amid the cluster of red robes and concerned teammates. She slips off to rejoin her own team, who are celebrating on the other side of the pitch, and forces herself not to look over when Sirius is carefully escorted to the hospital wing some minutes later. If she feels his eyes on her as he goes, she makes no sign of it. And – if her heart is beating a million miles a minute and her thoughts are spinning with the memory of his warm eyes on hers, well…

She makes no sign of that, either.

* * *

The whole school is up in arms about Gryffindor's near-win. It's practically the only thing people are talking about. As for Slytherin house, they're very content to rub it in everyone's faces, going as far as making snide remarks to every Gryffindor they see, whether they are a part of the Quidditch team or not. A few months ago, her housemates' banter would have been a source of amusement for her, but the stress of her task and the knowledge that she doesn't have that much time to complete said task erases whatever entertainment she would have normally felt.

The rest of her house doesn't seem to share her sentiments, though. They host an enormous party in the common room the night after their win, smuggling in alcohol and bribing the house-elves to supply them with food. Avery and Mauve are practically worshipped by the younger students. It's nice to see Mauve fitting in a bit more, but Vivian isn't really in the mood to party. After lingering around for a while, she takes her leave and decides to wander a bit, craving the silence that the empty hallways provide. She doesn't venture outside of the dungeons. Though she is tempted to head to the third-floor classroom, she doesn't want to push her luck and her mind is spinning a bit too much to concentrate on anything of import. The several shots of firewhiskey she'd downed at the behest of Morrigan have gone right to her head, and it's only when she presses her back to the cold stone wall by one of the many Potions classrooms that she feels like she can breathe.

Her thoughts are wispy things with nothing to hold them together. They flit around like snow flurrying from overhead, aimless and directionless. She thinks about her father and how a part of her has always yearned for his acknowledgement; she thinks about the spell that she needs to create and what might happen to her if she fails; she thinks about warm eyes and cold fingers, boyish smiles sent her way that make her feel flushed and overheated…

"Why did you leave the party?" a voice suddenly wonders across the way. Vivian's head snaps up in surprise, only to find that Regulus has followed her out of the common room. He's standing several meters away with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall by one of the sconces of light. His expression is especially unreadable tonight, as if it is carved from the stone that he leans against.

Vivian sends him a look and mutters, "What do you want, Regulus?"

For the briefest of seconds, he seems slightly taken aback by her tone. His expression falters just a little before returning to the unreadable mask from before. Vivian nearly misses the change entirely. She would have, if she wasn't busy glowering at him.

He scoffs quietly and pushes off from the wall. "Just wondering why you're not celebrating our win with the rest of our house." Then, pausing, he adds in a begrudging tone, "You and my brother looked very cozy on the pitch." He raises an eyebrow at her, studying her face in a manner that makes her distinctly uncomfortable, for it seems as if he can see right through her. Her reddened cheeks and the way she immediately looks away from him makes him uncomfortable, too. She appears awfully guilty for someone who claims to hate his brother, and as before, he wonders if hatred is really the right word for it.

Vivian snorts and straightens up, dusting off her robes. "What's that supposed to mean?" she grouses, but doesn't stick around for his response. Instead, she walks down the corridor in hopes of getting away from him. She had left the common room so that she could find peace and quiet. His presence here rather makes this difficult.

Regulus isn't the kind of person to let her leave that easily, though. He follows her down the hallway, his footsteps falling lightly on the stone floor. Judging from the stiff set of Vivian's shoulders, she's more than aware that he's still lingering behind her. Her impatience is quick to spill over after only a few moments, and she spins around to confront him and to demand why he's still here – but before she can form the words, Regulus beats her to it.

"I know things between us haven't exactly been smooth lately, but I – "

"How could they be?" she cuts in with a frown. "You've made your perspective very clear and I've told you plenty of times that I don't want anything to do with it."

They stare at each other for a long moment before Regulus says, "…I still care about you, Vivian."

She rolls her eyes. "You're so full of shit, Reg," she snaps, and turns on her heel.

Regulus reaches forward to grab her upper arm and haul her to a stop before she can escape. In a quiet voice – a voice she's never heard him use before – he calmly says, "I _do_ care. Which is why I'm warning you that you're running out of time. The Dark Lord is sending an agent to Hogsmeade soon to collect your spell. You'd better hope you've got something to hand over."

His words are like ice water dousing over her. She turns her head to stare at him, catching his eye. He stares back with a solemn expression. His fingers feel too tight around her arm; he's gripping her so hard that it almost hurts.

"You already told me I had a deadline," she manages to say after a moment of total silence. Her voice is surprisingly calm. She's not sure how it doesn't shake.

Regulus purses his mouth and slowly releases his grip on her arm. When his hand falls away, it feels oddly final, in a way she can't quite describe.

"I don't know what's going on between you and my brother," he says, "but you know he won't protect you from what's coming. He's out of his league, and you're an idiot if you think it's worth throwing your life away to get in with his little group of friends."

A feeling quite unlike any that she's ever experienced rises up within her then. It feels almost defensive, almost protective – as if she can't bear to hear him talk about Sirius like that. That, even though they're brothers, Regulus doesn't know Sirius at all.

"He's…_good,"_ Vivian struggles out, unsure of what she's even trying to convey. After all, so what if Sirius Black is good? So what if he's on Dumbledore's side? It's just that suddenly it matters to her more than it ever did before, now that Regulus is standing in front of her, seeing through her actions with far more clarity than he has any right to.

Regulus scoffs quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he stares at her. "And I'm evil? C'mon, Vivian. The world isn't that shallow."

But isn't it? When there's a war on their doorstep, and everything is going to hell around her, and she feels so confused and unsure about her future – isn't it _exactly_ that shallow? She doesn't have the luxury of a more indulgent perspective. Regulus Black's direction has been made very clear to her.

"Thank you for telling me about the agent," Vivian says stiffly, and takes a step back. She stares at him with a removed look in her eye that has Regulus straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. The look they send each other in that moment borders on frigid. He's obviously insulted that she seems to have such a low opinion of his character, and she frankly doesn't have the energy to explain said opinion.

Without a word, Regulus turns on his heel and makes his way back down the corridor towards the common room. He doesn't look back, and Vivian doesn't try to stop him.


	46. Vel caeco apparent

**Chapter Forty Six | Vel caeco apparent**

**[It would be apparent even to a blind man]**

It would be a lie to claim that Vivian isn't concerned about Regulus's warning. The fact that she has a deadline for which to create her spell is stressful enough, but the knowledge that the Dark Lord is sending an agent to Hogsmeade soon is even worse. She barely sleeps at all that night – partially because of the celebratory Quidditch party that continues well into the early mornings hours of the morning but mostly because her thoughts are spinning in such a claustrophobic way that she can't settle her mind for the life of her. Dark scenarios color each thought. She can't stop envisioning what might happen should she fail her task. She's never met the Dark Lord personally, but she's heard how merciless he is when one of his followers don't live up to their given purpose. Will he kill her if she fails to come up with a good enough spell?

She tosses and turns for hours after her conversation with Regulus, who is yet another reason for her sleeplessness. She just doesn't understand why he wants to be a part of something so dark. Perhaps he's right, that the world isn't as black and white as she had suggested. After all, she's right in the middle of this whole mess, but she doesn't believe herself to be evil despite the fact that she hasn't yet found a way to remove herself from her current circumstances. Still, the memory of his cold eyes and his low warning makes her distinctly uncomfortable. The stress that it introduces erases any sleep that she might have otherwise found, and after a while, Vivian gives up on sleep altogether. She throws her blankets off and grabs her wand, summoning some light. Then, after slipping the outer robe of her school uniform over her shoulders and collecting _'A Dictionary of Hexes, Vol. III', _she slips quietly out of the dorm and into the hall.

Truthfully, she doesn't know where she's planning on going. Perhaps she means to read a bit in the common room, but when she steps into it, it's clear that she won't be getting any peace there. The Quidditch party is still going on despite it being close to three in the morning. Most of the partiers have either passed out in one of the many chairs or are too wasted to notice her presence. She sees Mulciber, Avery, and Rosier lingering by the hearth passing a near-empty bottle of liquor between them, but thankfully their backs are turned towards her and they don't see her arrival. Snape must have left the common room ages ago – he's not one for the loud, uproarious nature of a typical Slytherin party. As for Lucius, Vivian has a feeling that he's with Narcissa in his dorm, because her bed had been suspiciously empty when Vivian had made her way past it.

Vivian slips out of the common room and begins to walk aimlessly down the corridor. She doesn't necessarily mean to walk in the direction of the hospital wing, but when she ends up at the entrance of it, she doesn't question it. She hesitates for only a moment before setting her shoulders back and quietly walking inside, peering around for any sign of the head healer. When she doesn't see any candles still lit, she deems it safe enough to cross into the main room.

Admittedly, she does feel a bit silly when she finds the bed she's looking for. What the hell is she doing, visiting Sirius Black? It's not as if they're close enough for all of this. She's been constantly reminding herself how much she hates him for the past week now, clinging onto her mantra as if it is the only thing keeping her afloat. She hates everything about him – his stupid smiles and his warm eyes and his open laughter and the fact that he seems so adamant about getting closer to her. He's a womanizing arsehole with no respect for anyone but himself, who fancies himself god's gift to women or some shit like that. He definitely doesn't deserve her presence here tonight.

She pulls up a chair anyhow, frowning to herself even as she opens her book. It occurs to her, as she shifts the pages into a beam of moonlight, that it's been ages since she's last read one of Austen's masterpieces. With every stressful thing that's happened in the last few weeks, there is something blissfully calming about imagining Elizabeth's trip to Pemberley. She has yet to realize that the elusive Mr. Darcy is due to arrive to his manor imminently, but in only a few pages, she will stumble upon the man himself on the estate grounds. The scene is already so ingrained within Vivian's mind that it unravels for her easily, and finds herself burying her face into the pages, devouring the words as she sits in that shard of moonlight in the silent hospital wing.

'_Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character, and as she stood before the canvas, in which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.'_

The quiet ticking of the clock across the room vanishes as she turns the page. She doesn't hear the soft breathing of the man before her, nor the gentle wind that occasionally blusters against the windows. Her anxiety is still there, burning against her mind, but it dulls into a softer reminder. Mr. Darcy's sudden entrance to the scene is a distraction, at best, to that anxiety, but it is a better distraction than any she has thus far achieved. And she doesn't know if it's the book itself or the fact that she feels a certain sense of calming disregard as she sits there in the silence – or if, indeed, there is another reason for this calm that she has yet to acknowledge – but she basks in it like she never has before.

'_She was overpowered by shame and vexation. Her coming here was the most unfortunate, most ill-judged thing in the world! How strange it must appear to him! In what a disgraceful light might it not strike so vain a man!'_

Yes, this is better. Austen's writing is far superior to reading about Inferi and other Dark magics. She'll have to start reading Gavin's latest book, The Invisible Man, when she's finished rereading this one. No doubt her Ravenclaw friend is wondering if she's started it yet. She hasn't seen much of him of late, so she'll have to make an effort to corner him outside of class soon.

'_She longed to know what at that moment was passing in his mind; in what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of everything, she was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil, only because he felt himself at ease; yet there had been that in his voice, which was not like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of pleasure in seeing her, she could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her with composure.'_

She turns the page once more, her mind drifting idly through thought and imagery. It is as the page is turning that she happens to realize that though she still hears the soft ticking of the clock, she no longer hears the evenness of breath before her. This realization gives her pause, until she scoffs quietly to herself and drawls, "You're finally awake? Took you ages."

True, she hadn't actually expected that Sirius would wake up, nor had she wanted him to. She doesn't want to admit why she felt the need to come here. She doesn't wish to acknowledge the reasons why she would ever deem it necessary to visit him in such a way, and finds it a little aggravating that she has been unexpectedly caught in the act of doing so. She's not about to make all of this obvious, however, and merely settles back into her book as if this entire situation is completely normal, and not at all out of the ordinary.

Sirius doesn't have quite the same composure, but he's too tired to do much else but mumble, "Sorry. I hadn't realized I had an audience. Way to be creepy, Godric."

That he can still be sarcastic whilst being half-asleep is slightly admirable of him, she'll admit – but she wrangles down the amused smirk that threatens to overtake her upon hearing said sarcasm.

"Don't call me that," she instead says, in a voice too breezy to sound sincere.

Sirius makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a mixture of a sigh and a laugh, and reaches up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Then, turning his head towards her, he studies the moonlight that graces over her face, and the downturned eyes that pour over the book in her hands, and the way she's curled up on her chair, her legs tucked beneath her form. The moonlight gives her a glowing appearance that seems otherworldly, and if his breath happens to catch slightly in his throat, well, he can hardly blame himself. Her presence makes him feel more than just baffled, for he hadn't expected to see her at his bedside, especially not in the middle of the night. He feels the need to sit up a bit so as to study her better, because besides being baffled, he's a bit concerned. After all, he can't imagine that she would bother visiting him like this under normal circumstances. His broken arm has mostly been healed, but the bone is still fragile, so when he goes to push himself up, the movement is accompanied by a slight cringe.

"What're you doing here, anyway?" he asks, sounding a bit more like himself. Now that he's slightly more awake, he's starting to realize that this isn't actually a dream, and that Vivian Blair is in fact sitting by his bedside in the middle of the night for reasons completely unknown to him. It's so strange that he can't help but joke, "Were you _worried_ about me? Had to make sure your savior was alright?"

As expected, her face immediately drops into a disgusted scowl. "My _savior?_ Don't pretend as if you flew into that Bludger on purpose. I'll bet you just didn't see it and you're trying to make it seem like I owe you a favor or something."

Sirius's mouth drops open. "I _did_ do that on purpose!"

Vivian narrows her eyes. _"Why? _To gain leverage on me?"

"Oh relax," he grumbles, flopping back down into his bed with an annoyed grimace. "Honestly. One might think that no one's ever done anything for you out of the goodness of their hearts. Stop being so dramatic."

She closes her book and sends him a mock-confused glance. "But you don't have a heart, Black."

He rolls his eyes at her.

"Really. What are you doing here?" he asks again, sounding slightly more serious. He peers at her through the dim light. The moonbeams that cascade through the window are subtle things, but they're strong enough for her to see that he's studying her a bit more closely now. It makes her uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of such a close stare, so she shifts in her seat and fiddles with the edge of her book.

Vivian huffs, "I couldn't sleep," and doesn't say anything more on the matter. She's not going to tell him why she can't sleep. She won't tell him anything about her deadline or her task or the fact that there's an agent coming to Hogsmeade to meet with her. The reason for her silence isn't even that this is Sirius Black and that, on principle, sharing such secrets with him goes against everything she believes in. No – her reason actually has more to do with the fact that she doesn't really want to broach such a dark topic when this is the first time in weeks that she's felt so calm. She selfishly clings to that calmness as if it is the only thing keeping her afloat, and refuses to think too much into the possibility that his presence is the very thing that's calming her. That's – ridiculous.

Sirius hums and mutters, "Well. Usually, when I can't sleep, I – "

"Find the nearest broom closet and lure the first girl you can find?" she finishes for him, her voice bathed in sarcasm.

He pauses, mouth open, and begins to splutter out a denial. The denial ends up turning into a laugh, instead, and he snickers, "Oi, I don't think I appreciate that."

She snorts, "Okay fine. What do you do?"

He raises an eyebrow at her and pushes himself onto his elbow, being careful not to put any pressure on his still-healing arm. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he tells her, "I go to the kitchens. The house-elves adore me."

He's looking at her as if he expects that this will wow her, but Vivian only leans back and mirrors his expression, raising a slightly more sarcastic eyebrow at him as she scoffs, "Please. Everyone knows where the kitchens are."

At this, he admittedly looks a bit surprised. "That's not true," he denies. "Besides, if you know where they are, why haven't I ever seen you there?"

She flips open her book again and shrugs, "Maybe because I'm not a fat-arse."

He gapes at her, but his eyes are twinkling with something that resembles mirth. It colors his voice when he says in a mock-outraged voice, "Oh, well played, Blair. Well played. Speaking of the kitchens though, I am feeling a bit peckish." He sends her a look which she adamantly ignores.

"No," is her immediate response to his unasked question.

He frowns. "You could at least get me some chocolate cake after waking me up at three in the morning," he mutters, glancing over at the clock.

Vivian searches for where she'd left off in her book and scorns, "Why would I do that?"

He opens his mouth to reply, but before he can give her the several dozen reasons that he can think of, the sound of a door opening at the other end of the hospital wing silences him. Vivian, too, shuts up, and freezes in her chair. A quick glance over her shoulder tells her that they haven't been as quiet as she'd thought, because Madam Pomfrey is even now lighting a candle and suspiciously poking her head out of her office.

"Shit," she breathes, and starts looking around for a place to hide. Being caught out of her dormitory at this hour, prefect or not, would not bode well for her.

She's in the process of mentally berating herself for having come here at all when Sirius scoots over in his bed and whispers, "Get in, Blair." He lifts the edge of the blanket as if he expects her to just jump right into bed with him, and sends her a smirk.

She gapes at him for all of two seconds, before her expression turns into one of careful disgust. "I'm not getting into bed with you, you pervert – "

"She's going to give you another month of detentions if she catches you," he says in a low voice.

In reality, a month worth of detentions for being caught out of bounds after curfew is unlikely, but in that moment, she doesn't realize this. She's too busy watching Madam Pomfrey make her way down the hall, peering suspiciously into each bed as she checks for intruders. It's the threat of what her parents would say if they heard that she's received even more detentions that ultimately makes her throw herself forward. Not the desire to get into bed with Sirius Black. Not the need to be close to him in any capacity.

Sirius releases a low hiss of pain when she pushes him to the side and throws the blanket over her head, disappearing into the sheets just as Pomfrey approaches their side of the room. Admittedly, the situation isn't quite as glamorous as Sirius might have envisioned it. Vivian Blair has boney elbows, and one of them is digging into his gut.

"For Merlin's sake," he mutters, looking down at her in exasperation. "You're making this look so obvious." And then, much to her (disgusted) surprise, he hooks an arm around her and pulls her flush against him, making their forms look less conspicuous as they blend together beneath the blankets.

"What are you doing?" she hisses against his collarbone, nose pressed into his neck.

He arranges the sheet over her head and whispers, "Stop talking already."

She does stop talking, but only because she can hear Pomfrey's footsteps close to Sirius's bed. She definitely doesn't want to give herself away now, not when she's already committed herself to this peculiar brand of torture. And it _is_ torture, but not necessarily because she dislikes it.

That is to say –

Well, she doesn't hate it. It's just that Sirius Black is rather warm and she's rather cold and being pressed against him like this is rather nice, in a weird way that probably ought to be off-putting. In fact, come to think of it, it _is_ off-putting. Very off-putting. She does hate it.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and stay there, heart beating so fast that she swears he can hear it. She's never been this close to him before and it's completely terrible. She really does hate it.

His own hand is fisted into the fabric of her robes, pressed to her lower back and holding her in place with firm resolve. He's breathing calmly, mimicking sleep, and she imagines that his expression is probably just as calm as the rest of him seems to be. She wishes she knew what he was thinking. She hopes he knows that she's not at all happy about this predicament.

Right. Not happy at all. She closes her eyes.

"…She's gone," Sirius breathes out a few minutes later, and pulls the blankets off her head. Then, looking down at her, the corner of his mouth pulls up just so and he snickers, "Enjoying yourself, are we? It's okay, I understand. You can bask in my glory a while longer – ow for fuck's sake! You always ruin our moments!"

Vivian pulls her fist back from where she had sunk it into his stomach and hisses, "We do _not_ have moments." Then, casting a quick glance around the room to ensure that Pomfrey has, indeed, retreated back to her office, Vivian scowls at Sirius and scrambles off his bed.

She makes a show of angrily grabbing her book, which she had left unassumingly on the nightside table, and then turns back to glower at him.

"This never happened," she growls, much to his amusement.

He smirks, looking overly smug even as he rubs at the spot where she'd hit him. As she turns her back on him and begins to storm away (as quietly as she can – she doesn't want a repeat of _that_ dreadful situation), Sirius smirks wider.

Vivian Blair can deny it all she likes, but they definitely _do_ have moments, and this one takes first place.

* * *

"Vivian! Hey – Vivian – Merlin, show down, would you?" Gavin wonders as he falls into step beside her. She's on her way to her Ancient Runes class, ducking around students and generally trying to be as quick as possible. When she hears Gavin, she doesn't slow down, though she does turn to acknowledge his presence with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you want, Clarke?" she wonders, and glances around to see if any of her Slytherin housemates are in the vicinity. Since Regulus's warning the night before, she's been going out of her way to ensure that she doesn't end up getting waylaid by Mulciber. He's been sending her glances throughout the day as if he means to speak to her, and she's been adamantly dodging any attempts made and pretending not to notice.

Gavin seems to find her distracted demeanor a bit confusing, for he sends her a weird look and says, "Have you been avoiding me? I hadn't seen you in ages."

The question makes her stare at him cluelessly. He takes that as a good sign.

"So you _haven't_ been avoiding me?" he clarifies, studying her expression.

Vivian rolls her eyes. "Oh come off it, Gavin. Why would I avoid you?" Then, thinking that she sees Avery's head of reddish-blonde hair, she suddenly grabs Gavin's arm and hauls him to the side of the corridor. With a frown, she mutters, _"You're_ not the person I'm trying to get rid of."

Ah, she'd been mistaken. That isn't Avery, it's just some younger Hufflepuff student. When she glances back at Gavin, he's giving her a knowing look.

"This is what it's come down to? You're avoiding _Sirius?"_ he blurts out, much to her confusion.

She sends him a weird look and barks out a laugh that doesn't sound quite as convincing as she imagined it would. "What? That's ridiculous. He's still in the hospital wing." Then, realizing that her adamant words sound slightly too knowledgeable, she adds, "At least I think he is," and shuts up about anything involving hospitals (and their beds).

Gavin narrows his eyes at her. "Rumor has it that he took a Bludger for you at the match yesterday."

Vivian narrows her eyes right back. "He was just looking for some fame, as usual," she says, trying to shrug it off.

Her Ravenclaw friend doesn't seem to agree, because he crosses his arms and announces, "Bollocks. This is Sirius Black we're talking about. He's obsessed with Quidditch. He would never take a hit for someone on the opposing team." Here, he pauses, and Vivian waits for the inevitable conclusion that she knows is incoming (and most likely riddled with intelligent, well-thought out speculation). She doesn't have to wait for long before Gavin finishes with a decisive, "Unless of course he fancies you, like I've been saying all year."

Vivian rolls her eyes and pushes off from where they're standing against the corridor. As she delves back into the flow of other students, she grumbles, "Yes, I know. You never shut up about it."

He follows her, falling back into step beside her and reaching up to readjust his glasses. "That's only because you never listen to me," he shrugs, and ignores the impatient glance she sends him.

What he _can't_ ignore is the way she grabs him for a second time and shoves him behind the statue of Willoughby the Winsome, though.

"What is going _on_ with you today?" Gavin demands, looking slightly ruffled as he pushes her off of him in hopes of asserting a bit more space between their bodies. This is rather alarming, really, and as a person who prides himself with much wit and discernment, her strange behavior is baffling. Vivian doesn't offer an explanation for her irregular actions, however, because she's too busy peering around the statue with a determined look on her face, and merely hisses at him to shut up.

Now, Gavin Clarke doesn't often find himself pushed into hidden alcoves by members of the female race, but it occurs to him that this particular female seems to have taken a liking to doing exactly that. This isn't the first time she's done this, but the reasons for her taking such an action seem to align in all instances of its occurrence. At least, that's what Gavin assumes when he catches sight of Adrian Mulciber and Evan Rosier walking by.

" – figured I'll just pay off Sinclair again. No point acing Transfiguration when we've already got our lives planned out, right?" Mulciber is saying.

Rosier scoffs and agrees, "McGonagall favors the Gryffs anyway. Fucking blood-traitor scum. Hogwarts is really going to shit."

"Not for long, mate. Things'll turn around soon enough," Mulciber responds, his voice growing fainter as they round the corner and disappear.

The moment they're gone, Vivian releases a pent of breath and turns back to Gavin, only to find that he's frowning intensely at her.

"Really? You're still ashamed to be seen with me?" he says judgmentally, and then leans down to snatch his bag from where he'd dropped it on the floor and shoulders past her angrily. He mutters to himself as he pushes past other students on his way down the corridor. Vivian sighs and follows him, reaching out to grab his shoulder and haul him to a stop.

"That's not true," she denies. "This has nothing to do with you, Clarke."

Gavin looks incredibly frustrated when he demands, "Well what _is_ it all about?" He waits for her to explain it all to him, but when Vivian just opens her mouth and silently closes it several times, without procuring any such explanation, he impatiently mutters, "I thought we were past this, Vivian. I thought we were friends."

She quickly blurts out, "We _are_ friends."

He huffs. "If we were friends, you'd tell me why you've been so out of sorts lately and why you're never around and why you're failing half of your classes."

At this, Vivian's mouth drops open in shock. "I'm not failing half of my – "

"You forget that I help Professor Flitwick grade papers," he cuts in with a frown. "You got a T on your last assignment and according to him, several of the other professors have expressed concerns about your marks."

Vivian stares at him for a long moment before scoffing, "You're acting like some wayward parent, Gavin. My marks are none of your business."

He shakes his head at her and sighs, "Okay fine. Whatever. If you don't want to talk to me then – "

"I have a deadline," she thoughtlessly blurts out, and then promptly shuts her mouth.

He blinks at her in bewilderment. "What?"

Vivian stares at him with an expression that Gavin has never seen on her before. It's suspicious and wary, but bathed in something that looks almost like fear. He furrows his brows and watches as she opens her mouth again, silently searching for something more to say.

"…Look, it's not something we should talk about here," is what she finally settles on, before grabbing his arm and hauling him down the corridor again.

Gavin, once more ruffled by this impromptu action, only manages a short, "Don't you have class?"

She laughs humorlessly and responds, "Gillanders won't notice. I'm hardly ever there anyway," and proceeds to ignore the outrage that immediately leaves Gavin's mouth at her admission.

"But_ I_ have class and I'm _not_ skipping it!" Gavin tries to say, but she ignores that, too.

"Oh shut it, Clarke. You need to learn how to be a bit more rebellious," is all she says in response.

"But – NEWTs – " he tries again, and proceeds to splutter all the way down the corridor.

* * *

Vivian isn't the only one skipping class today. After a night in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's (slightly lacking) supervision, Sirius's injury has been officially cleared. It doesn't take very long to heal a broken bone when magic is involved. The break had been repaired within a few hours of downing the frankly disgusting potion that the healer had given him, and the only reason he hadn't been able to leave immediately after that was because the bone was still fragile and he needed rest. Now, though, in the sunny afternoon following the ruthless Quidditch match, all four Marauders are lounging around the Gryffindor common room, pretending that they have absolutely no prior commitments to speak of. This is obviously not true. Remus is supposed to be in Care of Magical Creatures, Peter is supposed to be in History of Magic, and James and Sirius are supposed to be in Muggle Studies. However, considering who each of their professors are for these classes (and the fact that said professors rarely take a proper role call at the start of class), it's become an ideal time slot to skip.

"I'm thinking of asking Lily to go to Hogsmeade with me for Valentine's Day," James announces to the empty common room. Besides the Marauders, there aren't any other Gryffindors lingering around at this time of day. Everyone else is either in class or in the library.

Remus, Peter, and Sirius all roll their eyes.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Remus wonders, glancing up from the parchment he's writing on. He's not doing homework or anything that responsible. See, Remus Lupin is after all a part of the dishonorable Maraudership, and when he sets his mind to it, he comes up with the best pranks. Boredom is what currently stirs his imagination, despite the fact that he should probably be getting ahead on some of the assignments due at the end of the week.

James immediately sinks down into the couch and mumbles, "…No…" It's obvious that he's remembering Lily's murderous expression the night of the Slug Club party. She hasn't exactly let up on said expression in the days that have followed. She's still absolutely pissed at him.

Sirius snorts. "You need an intervention, mate. I could always introduce you to Ophelia, if you want. I do recall you saying that you like her arse."

James's only response to this is an annoyed shove that makes Sirius nearly fall right off the other end of the couch.

"Hey! All I'm saying is that Evans has you on a fucking leash!" Sirius exclaims, shooting James a glower as he rights himself.

"That's rich, coming from you," James mutters. He crosses his arms and meets the challenging look that Sirius gives him upon hearing this.

Now, the Marauders don't often argue amongst themselves. They are dishonorable comrades, and they are usually able to rise above such pettiness in order to see the bigger picture. Every once in a while, though, things tend to get haywire, as things sometimes do between people who know each other so well, and in times such as these, each Marauders has their own roles. Sirius is the sarcastic one, James is the brutally honest one, Remus is the one who steps in as middleman, and Peter – well, Peter usually pulls up a chair and gets some popcorn. They fall into these roles now, and Sirius's mouth turns up into a caustic smirk.

"If you're referring to Vivian – "

"Oh that's exactly who I'm referring to. You know, the bitchy Slytherin that you've been consorting with all year – "

"Don't you _dare_ call her that, Potter."

"I'm only repeating what _you've_ said about a thousand times."

"Yeah, well I'm not the same person I used to be."

"Clearly, seeing as you'd do just about _anything_ she asked you to, without question – even save her from a rogue Bludger right when we're about to win – "

"Are you _actually_ that pissed off that we lost the match?"

"I'm pissed off that you got me into this mess with Lily!" James snaps.

Sirius barks out a laugh. "What are you on about? I didn't do anything! I don't even _talk_ to Lily!"

"We made a deal in order to get your and Vivian together by the end of February. I mean, I don't hate Blair or anything, and I guess I can get behind you fancying her and all, but it's taking you so damn long. Just fucking kiss her already! Tell her you want her babies! And do it before the end of the month because fuck it, Sirius, my entire future with Lily is on the line here!"

Throughout all of this, the other three Marauders stare at him with varying degrees of shock. James rarely goes on a rant like this, especially to one of his best mates, so it's always surprising in the rare instance that he does. Sirius is practically gaping at him from across the couch, completely taken off guard at this admission, while Peter and Remus stare with equal surprise from their chairs.

"…Tell her I want her _babies?"_ Sirius croaks after nearly a full minute of silence.

Remus clears his throat to hide his laughter. Peter purses his mouth tightly to avoid smiling. James – well, James's mouth twitches just so because he can't quite help himself in that regard. He's never heard Sirius's voice go up so many octaves before.

It's that mouth-twitch that really does it. The Marauders all collapse into riotous laughter, so loud and rowdy that they fill the common with their mirth. Well, all but Sirius, whose face is a particularly vibrant shade of red as he uncomfortably shifts in his seat, mind swirling with memories of Vivian's warm body flush against his. _Merlin_.

"…Can't believe you made a bet about me," Sirius grumbles after their laughter has calmed down, though his voice lacks any true anger.

He seems slightly deflated now, and his face is still red when James wipes the tears from his eyes and chuckles, "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to call Vivian a bitch. And uh, right, sorry for using you for my own gain."

Sirius rolls his eyes, but the anger has well and truly left him when he grunts, "You'll do anything when it comes to Lily Evans. Use me all you like, Prongs. What're friends for?" Well, okay, there's a little bit of sarcasm to his voice still, but the amused set of his mouth lessens its impact.

Remus puts his parchment down and muses, "So if Sirius and Vivian don't get together before the end of February, what happens?"

James's laughter dies down and he mumbles, "I can't speak to her again for the rest of my life."

Sirius snorts at this. "Oh please. You deserve this, James. You shouldn't go around making deals like that behind my back."

James glowers at him. "I was trying to _help_ you. And myself at the same time," he adds as an afterthought.

"Yeah, well look where it's landed you," is all Sirius says in response, not sounding very sorry for his friend's plight. He throws his arms over the back of the couch and mutters, "Me and Vivian. I doubt it'll ever happen. She's so _stubborn."_

Peter sends Sirius a raised eyebrow and says, "So are you, Padfoot."

Remus smirks in agreement. "Yeah, it'd be a match made in heaven. Especially considering how you were both betrothed, or whatever."

Sirius grumbles to himself but doesn't answer, and James just sighs, "That's why I thought it'd be easy, you know? But Lily's been having a tough time befriending her."

"Well of course she has," Sirius cuts in with a roll of his eyes. "Blair is a pureblood, born and raised. She grew up listening to her parents spout bullshit about muggleborns not being as good as purebloods. That sort of brainwashing isn't that easy to get rid of."

They fall into silence after that, each in their own individual thoughts. Peter reaches into his bag to pull out the parchment he had haphazardly jotted his weekly assignments onto, trying to figure out how he'll get everything done. James starts kicking the coffee table in front of the couch, no doubt wondering how to get Lily back on his good side. Sirius leans back and closes his eyes, trying not to think about the feeling of Vivian's fingers curled up in his shirt, or the warm press of her form against his, or the way her breath had fluttered over his neck. Remus returns his attention to his latest prank idea, and opens the Marauder's Map to ponder the ideal location for his plan.

It's as he's turning the pages that his eyes happen to land on two names walking through the corridors of the third floor. Two names that, by all accounts, should be in class. His face must have contorted into a confused expression, because the other Marauders take notice of it.

"What's wrong, Moony?" Peter wonders, secretly happy for a reason not to look at his list of assignments, because there are way too many of them for him to feel at ease.

James glances over at him. Sirius doesn't. His eyes remain closed, and he seems to be off in his own little world. Remus glances over at him before hesitantly saying, "Er…nothing," and tries to brush the situation off, but Peter ends up looking over Remus's shoulder before he can put the map away.

"_Clarke?_ I _knew_ she was meeting someone on the third floor!" Peter exclaims, sounding proud of himself for coming to what he assumes to be the correct conclusion, and all on his own.

Sirius's eyes open.

"It's the middle of the day," Remus argues, starting to fold up the map. "I'm sure they just got lost or something. Maybe they got stuck on the stairs and had to get off on that floor – "

"But we saw Blair in that classroom only a few nights ago," Peter points out, clearly not getting the hint to keep silent on the matter.

Sirius sits up, reaches over the table, and grabs the map before Remus can put it back into his book bag. He unfolds it with a manic gleam in his eye, and stares at the two names with an expression that none of his friends have ever seen on his before.

James leans over to view the map. His eyebrows jolt up when he sees Gavin Clarke's name beside Vivian Blair's, walking through the rarely used third floor.

"Oh come on," James laughs. "Tosspot Clarke? No way!"

Sirius grits his teeth. James pauses.

"…Padfoot, don't – "

"I'm going to see what they're up to," Sirius abruptly announces, nearly crushing the map in his grip as he stands up and turns to the door.

Remus, Peter, and James stare at each other, before…

"I'm coming too!" James blurts, and hastens to follow.

"Er, yeah, me too," Peter shrugs, eager to watch the drama unfold.

Remus just sighs and grumbles to himself as he throws his things onto the coffee table and makes to follow.

* * *

The empty classroom on the third floor is as silent as a grave. Vivian supposes that she isn't all that surprised, considering what she has just told Gavin. He's sitting on the rickety chair that had been in the classroom when Vivian first came upon it, head in his hands and completely quiet. She tries not to let it get to her too much. After all, he surely wasn't expecting her to drop this kind of information on him out of the blue. He probably assumed that the reason she's been so out of sorts was simply because she was stressing over NEWTs.

"…So let me get this straight," he croaks after what feels like forever. His face is still in his hands. Unfortunately, she's not able to garner much from his expression seeing as its hidden from her, but his voice is enough to make her more than a little wary.

Gavin sighs and says, "Voldemort, the Dark wizard who is in the papers practically every day, wants you to create a spell that will make Inferi more powerful, and he wants you to complete this spell before the end of April."

His voice sounds disturbingly monotonous. Vivian cringes.

"This whole thing began over Christmas break and you kept it hidden from me even though we're friends," he continues.

She cringes again.

"And now, you just found out that Voldemort will be sending one of his followers to Hogsmeade to collect your spell, and if Voldemort deems that the spell isn't good enough, he'll probably kill you."

At this, Vivian pushes back her cringe to mumble, "I doubt he'll _kill_ me – I mean, I'm a pureblood witch, right?" She doesn't sound entirely convinced, though, and neither does Gavin when he releases another loud sigh.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me all of this before," he says, and finally lifts his head. He doesn't look angry or anything. Actually, he looks extremely worried about her. It would have been endearing, had she not been so anxious about bringing him into this whole mess.

She crosses her arms, feeling distinctly awkward. Her eyes meet his for a brief second, but it's difficult to hold eye contact and she ends up ducking her head as she shrugs, "This isn't your problem and I didn't want to get you involved. You're a muggleborn, Gavin."

She doesn't say this in a mean way, and he seems to understand that. All the same, he grouses, "Yeah, and I'm pretty good with experimental spells, too." When he sees the surprised look on her face, he rolls his eyes. "You don't think I'm actually going to let you die, do you? This spell has to be perfect, so tell me what you've figured out so far."

She barks out a confused laugh. "Please. I've never seen you express interest in _anything_ experimental. I only told you all this so that you stopped thinking I was looking down on you for having lesser blood." Gavin purses his mouth at her and she stops laughing to awkwardly say, "Er…right, sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

He sighs and rubs his face, falling silent again.

Vivian swallows against the lump in her throat and hoarsely says, "This is something I have to do myself."

He looks up at her, eyes shrouded with worry. Then, suddenly, he stands up and starts pacing, running his hand through his hair and sending his glasses slightly askew. "Maybe you should just go to Dumbledore. I mean, we're only seventeen, Vivian. Wouldn't it be better to have one of the professors help you sort this out?"

Vivian immediately stiffens, expression growing colder at this suggestion. In a firm voice, she responds, "No. You don't understand. I have to do this."

He sends her a baffled look. "But if you help Voldemort then you'd be labeled as one of his accomplices! It could ruin you – "

"I can't just abandon my house or my family," she cuts in. "I'd be penniless. I'd have _nowhere_ to go."

"So move in with someone after you graduate and get a job to pay the rent – "

"They would hunt me down, Clarke," she says through gritted teeth. "How are you not getting this? I'd become a traitor to the cause and they'd kill me either way." Then, swallowing hard, she hoarsely adds, "You don't know these people. And besides, no one would take me in."

Gavin sends her a determined look and responds, "I would take you in."

She is, admittedly, a little surprised by this. It's obvious that Gavin is being quite sincere in his offer. His eyes meet hers with a resolution that makes her stumble a bit, because even though they're friends and have been for a while now, it's still a strange thought, having someone care about her enough to make such a sacrifice. She feels an almost overwhelming amount of gratitude for his presence, and it silences her much more effectively than any counterargument would have. Still, though, he doesn't know what he'd be getting himself into if she were to move in with him after graduation. He'd be putting himself into immense danger, especially because of his muggleborn status.

After a lengthy pause, Vivian shoves her hands into her pockets and mumbles, "You'll be continuing your education, though. You've already told me that you think you've got a good chance of being accepted to that Norse school in the middle of nowhere."

It's true enough. Gavin's been going on about that school for a while now, ever since Professor Flitwick, his Head of House, had suggested it. For reasons unknown to her, Gavin's passion is arithmancy and ancient runes, and the Norwegian university is renowned for its curriculum in both subjects. It's also literally in the middle of nowhere, tucked into some remote mountain range miles away from civilization.

He shuffles his feet and mumbles, "So…you could move to Norway with me." He seems to have already realized what a terrible idea this is, and sighs.

She doesn't respond to his halfhearted suggestion and just goes to sit down on the rickety chair that he'd abandoned. They fall into a silence again, but this time, it feels more weighted.

"Look, you can't tell anyone about this," Vivian says after a while, turning her head to stare at Gavin with a heavy look.

He pauses, mouthed pursed. He looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment he just says, "Fine, I won't tell anyone. But you have to promise me that you'll tell me if you need help."

She looks like she wants to argue, too, but Gavin sends her a firm look that makes her cave almost immediately. She can't deny that having someone outside of her house know about her task makes her feel much better about it. Just talking it out like this has been more of a stress-reliever than she ever thought it'd be.

"Fine," she agrees, and turns her eyes to her hands, twisting them in her lap.

Another beat of silence passes between them before Gavin lets out a short laugh. The corner of his mouth edges up just so when he jokes, "I always knew I should've turned you down when you asked me to Hogsmeade. You're trouble, you know that?"

"You were too afraid to turn me down," she scoffs with a smile.

Gavin chuckles. "Yeah, well, if I'd known that all of your 'dictionaries' were really Austen books…" he trails off with a playful grimace, but his expression turns more serious a moment later when he repeats, "You promise you'll keep me informed on this whole thing? And – don't let it interfere with your studies. You still have to focus on your NEWTs, Vivian – "

"Merlin, stop nagging me, Clarke," she complains, and rolls her eyes. She stands up and says, "I guess we should probably get to class."

The reminder that they're skipping makes him visibly pale. "Merlin! I need to head back to the Ravenclaw tower for my Herbology textbook – "

"Relax. You've got plenty of time," Vivian says with a snort, and walks to the door. She feels incredibly good about spilling her secret, and she trusts that Gavin won't blab about it. He has the endearing tendency of sticking his nose up at gossip and rumors, claiming that it's completely immature and 'a waste of time better spent studying'. She knows that he'll take this information to his grave and the knowledge that she has a friend who cares about her makes her feel buoyant and content.

This feeling of relief isn't shared by one Sirius Black, though, who scrambles away from the classroom door when it's pushed open. Beneath the invisibility cloak, all four Marauders are extremely cramped and nearly topple over when Vivian and Clarke walk out into the hall. The slight scuffing sound of their shoes as they move out of the way catches Vivian's attention for one tense moment, before Clarke takes her arm and pulls her down the corridor, saying something about how he can't be late for his next class and that he can't believe he'd let Vivian convince him to skip ("you're a terrible influence, you know."). Thankfully, his hasty verbiage is enough of a distraction to capture Vivian's attention once more, and as the two of them leave, they are none the wiser to their impromptu audience.

The moment they turn the corner and disappear from sight, Sirius flings off the cloak with a tense frown. The other Marauders watch him warily. They know the expression currently taking hold of his countenance. Sirius Black can be a loose cannon sometimes, and the taut set of his shoulders indicates that this is one of those times.

"…Well at least she's not snogging Clarke's brains out in her spare time," James carefully says as he tucks his invisibility cloak over his arm. He glances over at Remus and Peter, who remain silent.

Sirius barks out a humorless laugh. "Right. She's only making some kind of Dark spell for Voldemort himself. No big deal there." Then, in a quieter voice, he mutters, "I can't believe she told _Tosspot Clarke._ I've been trying to get her to fess up for _ages_ now!"

Now, anyone who knows Sirius Black – _really_ knows him – would agree that he rarely gets jealous about anything. He has more confidence than most boys his age, for good or for bad, and utilizes said confidence in all of his dealings. He certainly has something of an arrogant streak, which is most likely the reason he'd become such fast friends with James. Because of his good looks and charming persona, there is little that Sirius cannot obtain when he puts his mind to it. That said, when something does come along that he can't obtain, jealousy isn't his go-to reaction. The thing is, though, that he's already run through the gambit of other reactions when dealing with Vivian Blair (anger, confrontation, goodwill, and charm, to name a few), and so the thought that she had told someone _else_ about her problems instead of _him_ is making him feel a bit resentful. After all, he's gone out of his way trying to convince her to take her problems to Dumbledore. He'd seen her at her lowest point when she'd stumbled into Godric's Hollow over break. He's had plenty of moments with her since then that he _assumed_ meant they were growing closer. Why else would she come to see him in the hospital wing in the middle of the night? Maybe he had overthought it all, and had made presumptions that were never true. Maybe she really _does_ hate him, despite everything that's happened recently.

"They're friends, Sirius," Remus tries to reason. "She feels comfortable talking to him."

This doesn't seem to help. Sirius glowers at the floor and mutters, "Right. Friends." His tone of voice makes it clear that he doesn't necessarily agree.

"Don't do anything stupid," James warns when Sirius turns on his heel to sulk back down the corridor. Sirius doesn't respond, and James lets out a heaving sigh. "Great. He's brooding again."

Remus and Peter exchange grimacing glances. After all, a brooding Sirius is one thing, but a brooding, _jealous_ Sirius? Watch out, Hogwarts.


	47. Satis verborum

**Chapter Forty Seven | Satis verborum**

**[Enough of words]**

Over the next day, Vivian's avoidance of Mulciber and his friends is quite successful. She arrives in class early and is in her seat before he steps into the room. She leaves as soon as the bell rings, ducking back into the hallway before he can stop her. She heads to lunch when she knows that he isn't around, and goes to great lengths to either avoid the common room altogether or to wrangle one of her friends into checking for his presence before she enters or exits it.

"I get that you don't like him, but shouldn't you at least make an effort to get to know him properly? You _are_ marrying him after graduation, aren't you?" Narcissa complains that afternoon after she had been the target of said espionage.

Vivian scowls at her. "We're technically betrothed, I guess," she grudgingly admits. "But there's no way I'm marrying him."

Narcissa is understandably confused by this. To be fair, Vivian isn't the most forthcoming person, and she keeps private matters to herself whenever possible. She doesn't typically talk after personal matters to any of her Slytherin friends, either. The reason for this is, in part, because she isn't generally an open person, and also because she doesn't want any of her opinions to reach the ears of her parents.

"I don't understand," Narcissa says as she follows Vivian out of the dormitories. This time of day, it's relatively quiet. Classes ended a few hours ago and it's nearing dinner time. Most of the students are hanging out in other areas of the castle or are already in the Great Hall, with the exception of a few who have set up to tackle homework assignments. With the heavy NEWT workload on her shoulders, Vivian should probably be one of them, but to be honest, she isn't all that concerned with her marks at this point – much to Gavin's disapproval.

Vivian snorts and makes her way through the common room. The winter sun has already set, and the windows that look out into the Black Lake are dark and fathomless. She takes a quick glance around the room to ensure that Narcissa hadn't lied to her about Mulciber's lack of presence, and, satisfied, ducks out of the common room with her friend on her heels.

"He's foul and I want nothing to do with him. How is that hard to understand?" Vivian questions. She heads down the dungeon corridor, intent on going to dinner. Since it's early still, she doubts that any of the people she's avoiding will be there yet.

Narcissa sighs, falling into step beside her. "Well I suppose he isn't the best candidate, but it's not like you actually have a choice, Vivian. I'm sure your parents are already making plans. And anyway, it's not as if this is sudden or anything. Marriage has always been in the cards for us."

Vivian would like to point out that, while this is true, it's such an archaic tradition and she doesn't appreciate being bartered and sold to the highest bidder. She'd like to say that Narcissa wouldn't understand anyway, because she's always wanted to marry Lucius (despite recent revelations regarding his hair), and that she's never had a problem with the idea of getting married so young. But she doesn't point any of that out, because when the pair of them turn the corner, she finds that she doesn't have a chance to.

Adrian is standing in the middle of the corridor in front of them, his back turned towards Vivian. As usual, he's with his usual group of friends. Rosier is hanging back a bit with Severus and Regulus, while Avery and Lucius seem to be seconds away from procuring their wands. The hallway is tense, and the reason for the seemingly imminent dispute is because of one red-head who is facing them down with a stormy expression blazing over her face.

Lily Evans looks about ready to throttle them. Her face is nearly as red as her hair, no doubt due to something that Adrian or one of his groupies had said. Since attaining Head Girl status, she isn't an easy target because of the power she wields, but over the course of the year, the Slytherins have gradually become more callous where it concerns the rules of Hogwarts. Whatever flimsy shard of respect or recognition they had possessed before has steadily vanished as the end of the school year grows nearer.

Now, considering that Vivian has been going to extra lengths to ensure that she successfully avoids Mulciber, she's very much tempted to go back the way she'd come and take the long way around to the Great Hall. There are many other corridors that will bring her out of the dungeons, which she could easily use in order to continue avoiding her potential future husband. She's about to do just that, actually, when Adrian lets out a particularly scornful laugh and jeers, "Oh, have we made the little Mudblood upset? Are you gonna try to give us detentions? Take points away?"

Avery snickers and shivers dramatically. "Seeing the Mudblood at all is punishment enough."

"She's a disgusting little creature, isn't she?" Adrian returns, and nudges Lucius with a mean smirk.

Lily Evans is not the most sensitive sort of person. She's a Gryffindor, after all, and at the very least, she knows how to put on a brave face when the situation calls for it, regardless of whatever emotions she's feeling inside. It's obvious that she's putting on a brave face now, but it's also obvious that she's having a difficult time of it. There are cracks in her mask, and Slytherins are very good at picking up on such things.

"Oh no…I think we've hurt her feelings," Rosier drawls, sounding quite unremorseful. The only one who looks even a little bit hesitant about this situation is Snape, but that's hardly surprising. He's always had a thing for Lily Evans. But he doesn't step up to defend her, even when she sends a brief glance his way, and Lily doesn't seem like she's all that surprised when he remains silent.

Vivian, who is already beginning to backtrack her steps, pauses. She would never claim to be a saint. She isn't the sort of person to defend the weak, or whatever bullshit the Gryffindors like to spout. She has a much more black and white approach to life, which is of course that if you can't defend _yourself,_ you shouldn't expect anyone else to jump to your aid. This is why she's so perplexed when her black and white approach suddenly clashes with her actions. After all, as a general rule of thumb, Slytherins don't typically take a stance against their own – especially to support a member of a rival house.

"You lot must be completely stupid, going up against the Head Girl like this," she declares, and meanders her way up the corridor as if she had meant to all along, despite her close decision to take a different path. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her robes, curls her fingers around her wand, and assumes a haughty expression as she comes to a stop beside Rosier. Narcissa follows, looking at Vivian with warning eyes.

It is a warning that is entirely disregarded.

Adrian sends her a smirking grin and chuckles, "Fancy joining the party, Vivian? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been avoiding me."

Vivian doesn't look at him when she scorns, "I _have_ been avoiding you, Mulciber. See, I personally find that being around someone with such a low IQ is a bit frustrating. Alright there, Evans?"

Lily stares at her. Vivian stares back, raising an eyebrow as if she's silently asking her what the big deal is. She can see Regulus sending her a frown from the corner of her eye, no doubt disapproving of her callousness, but it's Adrian's reaction that really matters. His expression turns dark and stormy. He surely doesn't appreciate her commentary, especially considering that they are technically betrothed. Besides the harm that his male ego has just suffered, it's also a matter of principle. Pureblood wives are generally seen as quiet and unassuming. There are, of course, a few exceptions (Bellatrix Lestrange comes to mind), but even those among them who are just as fierce as their husbands rarely have the audacity to call them out in such a way, and in public no less. There is a certain amount of decorum that is seldom overstepped, and even though Vivian is not Adrian Mulciber's wife, in his eyes she's as good as.

"You should probably leave, Evans," Vivian says, not gracing Mulciber with a look even though she can feel his stormy eyes on her this very second. "And you probably shouldn't come down here alone again."

Lily looks like she'd like to argue, because she does that Gryffindor thing when they're trying to wrangle their courage. Her shoulders set back and her chin lifts, her eyes blaze with fire and her hand tightens on her wand, and she looks like a lioness standing in a pit of snakes who are seconds away from lashing out – but thankfully, Lily Evans is intelligent, for a Gryffindor, and she knows when a battle is lost. Lioness or not, she couldn't possibly win against so many of them. Without a word, Lily turns on her heel and walks away, though not without a backwards glance at Vivian, who is now turning to face the consequences of her stupidity.

Mulciber looks beyond furious.

"I must be mistaken, but it looked like you were _defending_ that Mudblood scum," he says, crossing his arms as he peers at her. His mouth is turned down into a tense frown. His displeasure is evident, obvious even, and though Vivian does seem to have the tendency of bringing said displeasure to the forefront, she isn't quite stupid enough to continue on that particular trajectory.

With a scoff, she mutters, "I wasn't defending her. You lot are just taking up the whole corridor with your spat and I'm trying to get to the Great Hall."

Adrian peers at her darkly. He doesn't seem to believe her entirely, and with some discomfort, Vivian can admit that she isn't surprised by this. She hasn't been all that smart with her dealings with him in the past. He knows about her fascination with muggle literature, and that she hangs out with Gavin with relative frequency, and that she doesn't stick her nose up at muggles in the same way he does. His expression is suspicious, as if he thinks that her defense of Lily Evans is a reflection of that wayward fascination.

"Do you actually expect me to believe that?" Mulciber drawls, calling her out. Vivian just raises an eyebrow at him, forcing her features to remain frozen. It's a technique that every pureblood worth their weight has perfected long before they become a teenager, but today it seems to be failing her. Adrian's eyes are smug and knowing, as if he sees right through her.

Help comes in an unlikely form when Regulus steps forward to say, "Lay off her, Adrian. You know how prickly Blair can be when someone gets in her way." He sends her a look that borders on sharp, as if his words are a warning and a judgement all in one. She battles away the frown that wants to overcome her face and doesn't respond.

Narcissa crosses her arms and adds, "There's no way Vivian would ever care about _Evans_. You're being completely ridiculous." But even as she says this, Narcissa's looks vaguely unsure. She glances over at Vivian as if she's trying to bolster her own conviction, and purses her mouth. Perhaps she's remembering the Slug Club party when Vivian had grudgingly agreed to keep Potter away from Evans for the evening. Or – perhaps the fact that Vivian's friendship with Gavin Clarke isn't exactly a secret. Whichever, she doesn't seem entirely convinced of her own words.

Vivian presses down the urge to shift on her feet, knowing that it would only make her discomfort more apparent. That's another thing that any pureblood – and Slytherin, for that matter – worth their weight learns early on: knowing when you've got the upper hand. She doesn't want Mulciber to think that he has it in this instance.

Narcissa's words do seem to have some sort of an effect on Adrian. It isn't really the words alone that are responsible for the way he steps forward to take Vivian's arm – rather, it's the reminder of her presence. He shoots a look at Lucius, who gives him a nod and loops an arm over Narcissa's shoulders. The next moment, he's leading her further down the hall, and though Narcissa looks like she wants to argue the move, she doesn't do anything but send Vivian one last glance.

The reasons for the sudden need for secrecy comes to light only moments later, once Narcissa and Lucius have disappeared.

"How is your task coming along?" Adrian wonders quietly. He still sounds a bit annoyed with her, but apparently a conversation about the Dark Lord is more important than whatever petty revenge he might have otherwise enacted. The others – Snape, Rosier, Avery, and Regulus – linger awkwardly a few steps away, pretending not to listen. Well, Snape and Rosier pretend. Regulus, for his part, just stands there stoically with his arms crossed and stares at Vivian as he waits for her response, and Avery merely sighs and strides off, evidently deciding that he has better things to do than linger in an empty corridor.

She hesitates, buying herself some time as she wrangles her arm out of Adrian's grasp, and impatiently mutters, "It's _fine_. Why is everyone being so _nosy_ about it?" She meets Regulus's eyes over Mulciber's shoulder and sends him a narrowed look to make sure he knows she's referring to him. He just stoically blinks back and makes no indication that he had understood her reference even though he'd have to be an idiot not to.

Adrian crosses his arms and answers her question, even though it wasn't actually directed at him. "You're going to be my wife, Blair. I think I have the right to ask if you're mucking up a task that the Dark Lord _himself_ has given you." When she falls into a petulant silence and doesn't respond, he grumbles, "Reg told you about the agent, then?"

Vivian sends another look at Regulus, who raises an eyebrow this time as if to ask what her problem is. When she turns her attention back to Mulciber, she impatiently snaps, "Yes, I know about the agent. Anything else?"

Adrian doesn't seem to like her tone, and really, she should know better than to rile Mulciber up like this, but it's difficult to speak to him without a thin veil of disdain coloring her voice. He is everything she hates: a Death Eater, a misogynist, and an arrogant arsehole who seems to think that he has intrinsic rights to her. Honestly, she almost wishes that her original betrothal hadn't been dissolved. She might not like Sirius Black all that much, but at least she can admit that she'd take him over Adrian Mulciber any day.

"There is something else, actually," Adrian snaps, thoroughly annoyed with her attitude. He glances over at his friends and says, "Narcissa has been asking questions that Lucius isn't ready to answer, so don't go around telling her or Flint anything about your task."

Vivian crosses her arms, mirroring him, and drawls, "Are you honestly telling me that Narcissa isn't aware that Lucius is a Death Eater?"

Apparently, her question is loud enough for the others to take offense, because Snape and Rosier immediately stop speaking amongst themselves to send her particularly hard looks, and Regulus's eyebrows turn down into a frown.

"Keep your voice down," Adrian hisses at her. "And no, she doesn't. He hasn't had the chance to tell her." When Vivian opens her mouth to question this, he impatiently adds, "And before you ask about the mark, there _is_ such a thing as a concealment charm, Blair."

She rolls her eyes at him and mutters, "I wasn't going to ask about _that._ I just don't understand how he hasn't had the chance to tell her when they're practically attached at the hip. And why all the secrecy? She'll find out soon enough anyway."

Her questions don't seem to be granting her any bonus points, not that she cares. Mulciber looks about ready to shake her, which is probably why she ought to be thankful when Regulus steps forward to quietly intervene, "Cissy might be a Black, but she's not fully on board with us yet."

_Really, _Vivian should know better. She should keep her mouth shut and maintain her silence, as she's been striving to do for months now. But Merlin, the words just end up pouring from her lips before she even realizes she's saying them at all, and as she skewers Regulus with a look, she suddenly finds herself blurting, "Well I guess not _everyone_ from the Noble House of Black is a fool, then."

Regulus's eyes flash into hers. It's painfully obvious that Vivian is not, in fact, talking about Narcissa. The two of them enter into a staring match, of sorts. Regulus's hands slowly curve into fists. He looks genuinely angry with her, but she can't bring herself to care.

Thankfully, no one but Regulus seems to be aware of the turn in conversation, because Adrian just snorts, "Lucius will tell Narcissa when he feels that it's best. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut and focus on your task."

Hearing the finality in his tone, Vivian breaks the staring contest she's having with Regulus and sarcastically responds, "Fine, I won't tell her. Now am I allowed to go to dinner?"

But Slytherins – even the ones with questionable IQ – have this tendency of seeing through things. Mulciber narrows his eyes at her and reiterates, "You can't tell _anyone."_

She sighs at him as if she thinks he's being a git (she does, in fact, think he's being a git), and shoulders her way past him. As she begins to stride off, she scorns, "I _won't."_

She actually means it, too. The only person she would ever consider speaking with about her task has already been informed, and there isn't anyone else that needs to know. There's just one problem, though, and it comes in the form of one red-haired Head Girl. Vivian picks up her pace as she rounds the corner, intent on getting to the Great Hall. She's not very hungry after that conversation, but a cup of tea sounds heavenly. It's as she's passing the tapestry with the herd of unicorns that her hopes of said tea are squashed.

See, Vivian Blair isn't used to being accosted and dragged into alcoves, regardless of how often she may or may not do it to one Gavin Clarke. It's the principle of it all, really, that promptly makes Vivian reach for her wand even as Lily Evans releases the wrist she had captured.

"Sorry – sorry," Lily splutters, seeing the threatening way Vivian is narrowing her eyes at her.

She leans out into the corridor to see if they're alone. As she does, Vivian snaps, _"What_ are you doing?" and forgoes her wand to instead spear Lily with her best Slytherin glare.

Honestly. _Gryffindors_.

Lily shuffles awkwardly on her feet and, in a low voice, whispers, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. And to thank you for helping me." The thanks is hastily added on, no doubt due to the thoroughly unimpressed way Vivian is glowering at her.

"I can handle Mulciber," Vivian dryly informs her, crossing her arms as she assesses the Head Girl with a doleful look. "…Just don't spread this around the school, Evans. I have a reputation to uphold."

A reputation that really shouldn't be shaken, considering the thin layer of ice she's currently walking on in regards to her task. It's getting a bit exhausting, actually, to portray herself this way.

For Lily's part, she admittedly does look a bit chagrined at having accosted Vivian in this manner, and sends her a grimaced smile. "Right. Okay." Then, after a beat of silence, she can't seem to help but blurt out, "Are you _really_ going to marry him?" And Vivian, surprised that she would ask and suddenly more than a little concerned that she had overheard her conversation with her fellow Slytherins, stares at her with pursed lips.

Lily hurries to say, "Sorry, it's just that there've been rumors about it. The whole pureblood betrothal thing really doesn't make sense to me."

At this, Vivian snorts and mutters, "Yeah, well, that makes two of us. I mean, Flint is betrothed to _Dolohov,_ of all people. If that's not fucked up, I don't know what is."

She shoulders her way out of the alcove. Lily hastens to follow, falling into step beside Vivian as she continues on her way to the Great Hall. Walking next to Lily Evans is a bit strange, really, but after a few corridors of awkward conversation, the oddity of the situation fades away.

"So have you always been betrothed to Mulciber, then? Is that why you're so nonchalant about it all?" Lily wonders.

Vivian rolls her eyes. "Of course not. This whole thing only just happened over Christmas break."

If Lily notices the way she evades the question just a little bit, she doesn't show it and Vivian doesn't offer up any other information regarding her first betrothal. They round the corner and see the doors of the Great Hall before them, opened up to students. Because she'd been dragged into a conversation by her Slytherin housemates and _then_ dragged into an alcove by a Gryffindor, she's no longer early to dinner. Most of the castle has already congregated inside.

"That makes sense, I guess," Lily muses as they approach the doors. "Thanks again, for helping me back in the dungeons. I don't think they would have responded to detention threats."

Vivian pauses in the doorway and glances over at Lily. Her voice is slightly more serious when she responds, "I might not be around the next time, so don't go wandering around down there again."

"I was on my way to Slughorn's office. I didn't think it'd be a big deal," Lily sighs.

"You're a muggleborn," Vivian shrugs. "You should take more precautions."

Lily looks vaguely offended at having her blood status brought up so breezily, but Vivian doesn't stick around to soothe the perceived insult. She hadn't meant it to be an insult anyway, and doesn't particularly feel the need to defend herself against someone who had dragged her rather rudely into an alcove, despite their slightly more pleasant dialogue after the incident. Vivian just sends Lily one last glance before striding off to the Slytherin table and finding an empty seat.

As for Lily…

"Lily! Lily!"

She sighs and skewers a sharp look at the four Marauders, who are sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table. James and Sirius blink at her innocently. Of course, there is nothing innocent about those two, which is probably why Remus is sending her an apologetic look.

"What?" she asks impatiently, pausing beside them as she looks around for Marlene. The only reason she is humoring them is because it hadn't actually been _James_ who had called her, and she's a bit curious to find out what Sirius wants.

"What happened? Why were you with Vivian? What did she say to you? Why didn't you tell me you were friends with her? What – "

"_Merlin's Beard,_ Sirius, take a breath already," Lily snaps, and collapses onto the bench. Sirius looks only slightly chagrined at his barrage of questions, and just waits impatiently for her to respond to them.

As his friend waits, James sees the opportunity presented to him and takes full advantage of his Lilyflower's presence, reaching over to start filling a plate for her in hopes that she'll stick around. Sirius joins in quickly, hoping for the same thing. He fully intends on questioning Lily until he gets all his answers or her impatience wins out – whichever comes first – and practically shoves a goblet of pumpkin juice at her. Lily heaves out a sigh and accepts the offering, though not without a sharp look sent in his direction.

"We just ran into each other is all. She got me out of a difficult situaton with the Slytherins. As for what we were talking about, it's hardly any of _your_ business, Sirius," Lily says as she skewers James with a threatening look. He's busy piling enough mashed potatoes to feed three people onto her plate, whistling happily as he does. Whether he notices her look or not, it certainly isn't making him halt his efforts to make her stay. Of course, when he hears that the love of his life had been dealing with foul, loathsome _Slytherins,_ he does pause.

"She saved you from her housemates?" he asks, raising his eyebrows as he resumes loading her plate with mashed potatoes.

Lily rolls her eyes and doesn't respond to him, apparently still annoyed with his latest stunt at the Slug Club party.

Sirius frowns and mumbles, "It _is_ my business…" under his breath. Beside him, Peter sends Remus a look, which is returned with an eye roll.

"I really don't know what your problem is," Lily continues, ignoring Sirius's muttered words. "If you like Vivian as much as James says you do, just go up to her and ask her to Hogsmeade."

The suggestion garners two notable reactions from Sirius. The first is a glower sent to James, no doubt for gossiping about him to Lily. The second is a scoffed, "I can't do _that_. She'd _reject_ me." This is coupled with a brooding glance towards the Slytherin table.

Vivian is sitting somewhat removed from her housemates, nearby a group of younger students who keep glancing at her with wary expressions, as if they're afraid that she might hex them. This is, admittedly, amusing enough to make Sirius's brooding look lessen slightly, especially when he sees that Vivian is completely ignoring them as she fixes herself a cup of tea.

"Haven't you ever been rejected before?" Lily demands, turning to face him.

Sirius immediately barks out a laugh as if this question is completely ridiculous, and says in an incredulous voice, "Of course not. I'm _Sirius Black."_

Lily's expression takes an unsympathetic turn. She stares at him for a long moment before promptly turning to James and demanding, "Potter, ask me out on a date."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. Peter's mouth hangs open in shock, showcasing a mouthful of half-chewed chicken. Remus leans back with an amused smirk. But – it's James's reaction that is _really_ memorable. He immediately freezes, arm raised to deposit a heaping spoonful of buttered peas onto Lily's plate. His head snaps up so fast that it looks painful. The jerky movement makes a good majority of the peas fall off of the spoon and roll onto the table. His mouth drops open, eyes wide, and he just stares at Lily as if he's forgotten how to speak.

Lily raises her eyebrows at him and waits.

"Ummm, Lily, er - " James begins, pushing up his glasses with a nervous energy. "Right. Lilyflow – Lily. Would you go – no wait, that's no good. Um. Usually I have more time to think about this…"

Lily sighs impatiently and snaps, "Just ask me, Potter."

The other Marauders watch as James flushes slightly and, beneath Lily's sharp gaze, clears his throat. It's odd how awkward he's acting all of the sudden. Perhaps it's because this is a new situation, and he isn't entirely sure how to navigate it. After all, Lily Evans has never asked him to ask her out on a date before. Usually he just asks her and expects her to tell him to throw himself into the Black Lake, or off one of the castle parapets, or – well, the point has been made.

"Okay," James takes a deep breath and pauses to center himself and looks up into Lily's eyes. "Lily, would you go out with me?"

He smiles hopefully. The smile drops away when Lily immediately responds, "No. See, Sirius? It's not a big deal, getting rejected. It's just one stupid word. Now if you lot will excuse me, I'm going to go sit with Marlene." And with that, Lily Evans pushes away the mountain of food James had spooned onto her plate, gets up, and walks away. James stares at her as she leaves, even more frozen than he'd been when she had first asked him to ask her out. The other Marauders remain silent, too, until Remus purses his lips and reaches over to put a comforting hand on James's shoulder.

"Cheer up, mate. She was only trying to prove a point," he says quietly, though from his tone of voice, it's clear that he doesn't think Lily's point had been entirely justified.

Neither does Sirius. With a glower sent at Lily's retreating back, he turns to James and mutters, "That was cruel. It only makes me not want to get rejected even more." Then, seeing James's downtrodden expression, he hesitantly asks "…Alright there, James?"

James heaves out a sigh and mumbles, "She still wants to murder me, doesn't she? I thought she was over the veritaserum incident."

Remus grimaces. "…I don't think she is. Give it a bit more time."

Sirius frowns, claps James on the back, and says, "Don't worry, mate. She's crazy for rejecting you."

Peter nods and chimes in, "Yeah, you're great, James."

None of their encouraging words seem to be doing the trick, though, because James just sighs again and pushes his food around his plate for the rest of dinner. As for Sirius, well, in between trying to improve his best mate's mood, he becomes more and more convinced that being rejected is absolutely something to avoid.

* * *

After dinner, the Marauders trudge back up to the Gryffindor common room, still attempting to bolster James's mood. They don't succeed, and he forlornly shuts himself into the bathroom after claiming that he is going to drown himself in the shower. Remus had patted him on the shoulder again, Peter had offered up some of the expensive chocolate from Switzerland that his mother likes to send him in her care packages, and Sirius had told him to have at it and that if he dies and becomes a ghost, Lily would probably go out with him out of pity, at least. It was supposed to be a joke, but it hadn't made James laugh and he'd gotten a stern talking to from Remus after the bathroom door had closed.

Right. After that fiasco, Sirius doesn't wait around to see if James actually does decide to take his joke point blank, and after throwing his tie and black school robes onto his bed, he quickly leaves the dorm room. See, despite the brief reprieve he'd had after breaking his arm at the Quidditch match, he still has several more weeks of detention to get through, and Filch is surely pacing his office as he gleefully waits to administer tonight's punishment. Sirius normally would have taken his time getting down there, but considering the dismal mood of his friends and the fact that one brown haired Slytherin would also be attending the detention, he ends up arriving slightly early. Now before anyone gasps in horror at this monumentally grossly responsible action, it probably ought to be said that he ends up being rather thankful for his early arrival. There is one reason for this:

Vivian Blair did not show up for detention. When he waltzes into Filch's office at ten of seven, there is no sign of her. He doesn't think much of it, at first, because he is after all early, and merely greets the dour caretaker with one of his signature smirks.

"Evening, Argus," he drawls as he steps inside the tiny office. Mrs. Norris hisses at him from where she's sitting on top of the desk, and he presses down the urge to hiss back.

The next ten minutes tick by very slowly. Filch has taken to sitting in his chair, turning his eyes from Sirius to the clock over and over again. An uncomfortable energy gradually builds up in the small space, made all the worse when Filch begins to mutter to his creepy cat as if he actually thinks she can understand him. At ten past six, when Vivian still hasn't showed, Filch begins to get angry. At fifteen past, his anger progresses into fury.

"Calm down, Argie, I'm sure she'll be here any minute," Sirius says with a roll of his eyes, obviously unimpressed with the way Filch is now pacing back and forth in sharp, jittery movements. The office space is only about eight by eight square feet, and seeing as it's cluttered with junk and lots of random odds and ends, he doesn't exactly have a whole lot of room for which to pace.

At twenty past, Filch's impatience wins out. He shoves a broom and dust pan into Sirius's arms and snarls, "Go _clean something._ Useless students. I'll be talking to the Headmaster about extending your detentions. I won't stand for this! It's blatant disrespect – a century ago, I'd have you hanging from your ankles in the dungeons for this!"

Sirius had, understandably, grown quite insulted at being blamed for Vivian Blair's tardiness, and had made a bit of a show in arguing that _he_ shouldn't be punished for _her_ lack of respect, but Filch wouldn't hear it and had just shoved him out of his office. And so, standing in the middle of the corridor with a broom and dust pan in hand, no adult supervision, and no Vivian Blair, Sirius does what anyone would have done in his peculiar circumstances: high tailed it the fuck out of there.

After all, seeing as Filch has apparently decided to let him choose his own detention tonight, he figures that the third corridor could really use a good sweeping, what with all the cobwebs and dust. And if he accidentally runs into his absentee Slytherin at the same time, well, it's _her_ fault for not showing up to detention. So, despite the voice in his head telling him that this is probably not the best idea, he makes his way to the grand staircase and strides to the third floor with his broom slung over his shoulder and the dust pan hanging loosely at his side. He ought to keep up appearances, you know.

He's not sure what he actually expects, when he arrives at the classroom. If he thinks he'll find Vivian pouring over a book or casting experimental spells at the wall, he's wrong. The classroom is, in fact, empty when he steps inside of it, with no sign of her at all. Even though Vivian herself isn't here, though, she seems to have left some of her things behind. There are a few pieces of paper strewn over an old desk that looks like its seen better days, and several books stacked on the floor beside the wall. He sets the broom and dust pan down before going over to investigate.

Now, it isn't as if Sirius means to snoop around. He had been _hoping_ to stumble upon Vivian and corner her into admitting what she's up to. He isn't a scheming person by nature, unless of course said schemes have to do with pranks, and doesn't make a habit of sticking his nose into other people's business – unless that person is an enigmatic Slytherin that he is more than slightly enchanted with. And it's only because of said enchantment that he steps over to the papers and pulls one of them towards him. His curiosity is terribly arresting and he can't _not_ look.

Scribbles are written all over the page, from the topmost margin to the bottom of the parchment. There are notes here and there; nonsensical things that make little sense to him, which say things like 'must retain ability to control' and 'a common jurisdiction is key'. He sees half-formed spells and crossed-out ideas, and Latin words that mean things like 'cognizant' and 'mindful'. There seems to be a common ground between her notes and the Latin scribbles, but it isn't until he happens to glance to the book that's lying open on the desk that he realizes what it is.

'_Raising the Dead' _is sitting unassumingly beside the parchment, opened somewhere in the middle and forgotten. Sirius frowns at it, feeling his curiosity rush through him as he leans over it. He skims through one of the paragraphs before he grows bored with the circular wording and flips the page. And it's then, as he looks upon an image that depicts a grotesque dead body raising from a grave, that he realizes the missing link.

Inferi. She's crafting a spell to do something with Inferi – to make them more independent, perhaps? He glances back at the parchment and narrows his eyes when he sees the word _'conscientia'._ Having sat through his fair share of Latin tutors as a child, many of the foreign words written out on the paper are familiar to him, and they all seem to point towards the goal of making Inferi more self-aware, somehow.

Is this what she's doing? Doesn't she know how _dangerous_ this is? His frown deepens as he begins to riffle through more of the pages, trying to ascertain if she has figured out the spell or if there's still time to convince her to stop this madness before she gets herself killed. It's as he's turning over one of the pieces of parchment that his original hope comes to fruition. Funny, how it happens just when he's decided that it's probably better if Vivian doesn't show up, seeing as he's far closer to getting an answer than he would be if he just asked her outright.

Alas, but that's precisely what happens, and when Vivian sees him in _her_ domain, looking through _her_ things, she does what any proper Slytherin would do. She reaches for her wand and hisses, "What do you think you're doing?"

Sirius is actually a bit caught off guard at her sudden appearance. He jumps and spins around clumsily because he hadn't heard her step inside the room. When he catches sight of her expression and the fury dancing in her eyes, he realizes that this had been a pretty stupid thing to do. It definitely doesn't appear to be gaining him any points, judging by the way Vivian is clutching her wand with white knuckles. She looks like she's seconds away from casting the darkest curse she knows.

"…You didn't come to detention," he blurts out, mainly because he isn't sure what else to say. Then, realizing that he's still holding one of her papers, he clears his throat and slaps it back down onto the table with a grimace.

Vivian's gaze darts down to the parchment. Sirius swallows when he sees them darken.

"_How did you find this place?"_ she asks again, lifting her eyes back up to his. This time, he can almost feel her anger as if it is a dagger slicing through him.

He holds his hands up and hedges, "Look, Blair, I only wanted to talk about – "

"Get out," she interrupts, not letting him finish.

It's a little frightening, actually. He thought he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Vivian Blair's anger, but suddenly he's not so sure. He's half tempted to listen to her get out of here, but then something happens that makes him pause. It's a little something that Sirius Black has in droves. It's called stubbornness.

"No," he says, and crosses his arms.

It's almost worth it. After all, he is rather partial to the way Vivian's eyes blaze with wildfire whenever she's angry. It does things to him that he can't quite explain. It makes his heart shudder in his chest, and his fingers twitch for want of dragging her into him. It makes his body warm, as if the wildfire of her eyes sets some internal part of him ablaze, and the flames that sunder through him leave him gasping in the wake of them. Yes, it's almost worth it.

The sight of that wildfire has such an effect on him now, even as Vivian draws herself up to her full stature and narrows her eyes dangerously at him. The hand that is holding her wand shakes with her anger, knuckles bone-white and taut as she grips the handle. She looks like a true pureblood, with all the haughtiness and arrogance that he has seen many times before. Yes, a true pureblood – who looks down on him and sees him as little more than scum beneath her shoe; a stain for which she would like nothing more than to blast away.

Well, it's like he said: it's _almost_ worth it.

"You have no right, looking through my things and pretending that you actually give a shit about me, so get the fuck out of here before I send you to the hospital wing for the second time this week," Vivian sneers at him, lip curling into a familiar expression. He's seen it many times upon her face, this disdain. It's part of the reason he couldn't stand her, before. In fact, he feels the slightest twinge of his past feelings brimming up within him now, as he sees it again.

He clenches his hands, fighting back the urge to draw his wand. Landing himself into a duel wouldn't help either of them, and it especially wouldn't prove to her that he does, in fact, give a shit about her, despite her staunch belief that he's putting on pretenses. It's difficult to restrain himself, though. Being on the receiving end of an angry Slytherin who's threatening to curse him to kingdom come is certainly sending him instincts a bit haywire.

"If you had just told me about your task, I wouldn't have had to take these measures," Sirius snaps at her, feeling the strain of those instincts pull him in too many directions to count. He wants to respond to her threats with some of his own; he wants to pull her into him and kiss the living daylights out of her.

Vivian, who has had one hand gripping the doorknob since stepping into the room and finding him there, now sends the door flying back with one angry push. It slams into its frame, rattling loudly through the space and lending a daunting energy to the already menacing atmosphere. She takes one step forward and, raising her voice in her fury, responds, "I'm not obligated to tell you _anything_. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He grits his teeth and gives her a swift reply, and even though it isn't the first time he's said it to her, it still makes her delightfully perplexed.

"I'm someone who _does_ give a shit about you, Vivian, and even though you're dead-set about not believing me, it's not going to stop me from caring about the fact that you're making a fucking _spell_ for fucking _Voldemort, _or that you decided to tell fucking Tosspot Clarke before _me!"_

At this, she snaps her mouth shut. Her sudden silence isn't because of his admission that he cares, though. Her short-lived perplexity is quickly overshadowed by the intense amount of hatred that she feels bubbling up within her chest, when she realizes what he has just said. Her fingers shake again, but when she raises her wand to his chest, it's resolutely calm nonetheless; anger driven into cold, temperate rage. Fury at its finest.

"_You eavesdropped on me?"_ she hisses.

When a forest fire begins, it's near impossible to control. It burns for days, ravaging the land and taking down trees and wildlife as it goes. Its flames are a reckoning of destruction, building ever higher until there is nothing left to burn. Every tree, every plant, every blade of grass is made sacrificial, and only when the sacrifice runs dry and there is nothing more to take, the conflagration finally dies. And when it does, when the flames have roared out their final abolition, what is left is a colorless landscape where once was vibrant life; a dour, bleak sketch of a charred remnant of vitality.

This is what Vivian's eyes look like, as she stares thunderously at him and waits for him to explain himself.

But, see, Sirius Black isn't the type to fall to timidity whenever something challenging occurs in his life. If he was that sort of person, he'd never have gotten to where he is now. He'd never have had the courage to stand up to his family, or to leave home, or to try to make it by himself in the world. He'd never have gone to such lengths to ensure that there is a place for him in his house; the lone Gryffindor with a background so unlike any of his fellows. No, he is not the type to bow to intimidation, especially when it comes in the form of one Vivian Blair.

"I've been trying to help you for _weeks_ now, but you won't let me," he barks at her. "What did you _expect_ me to do, sit back and let you fuck everything up?"

This isn't exactly the best thing to say, but then again, there isn't really a _right_ thing to say anyhow. A wise man once said: anger is like grasping a hot coal and hoping that someone else gets burned. The hot coal of anger that you grasp so tightly harms yourself, always, before it spreads to others. Destruction is impartial; it burns whatever it can find.

It burns Vivian, too, when her fury takes a turn into pure, malicious hatred.

"I NEVER ASKED FOR YOUR HELP!" she hollers at him, and closes the space between them to dig the tip of her wand into his chest, hard enough that it hurts.

Sirius is, naturally, at the end of his rope. That much is obvious when he decides that playing nice is clearly not going to get him anywhere. Within seconds, he's grasping his wand and yelling, "Well tough, you're getting it anyway! I'm not going to sit back and let you create some fucked up spell to make Inferi more powerful! You're going to get yourself killed - "

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO – "

"I HAVE EVERY RIGHT!" Sirius roars. "I FUCKING LOVE YOU!"

Now this, Vivian is not expecting. The wildfire returns to her eyes as she stares at him in shocked bewilderment. Her anger dies down slightly in the face of his callous confession, only to be built back up with surprising swiftness when she forces herself to recall how he had eavesdropped on her private conversation, and has thrown himself into her path again and again, mucking everything up like the graceless Gryffindor he is. She studies the surprised light that enters Sirius's eyes upon hearing his own confession, and sneers at him.

"You love me?" she repeats incredulously. Her voice is quieter now; so quiet that it feels sinister. "You think that stalking me around the castle and constantly getting in my way is love? Are you really _that much_ of a fucking idiot?"

He seems just as shocked as she is, to have said such a thing to her, and for a moment she thinks he means to take it back. After all, Sirius _doesn't_ know what love is. How could he? He clearly only said that because it was the first excuse he could muster, for consistently messing up her life. But then the strangest thing happens. His shock dissipates into something that looks like determination. He sets his shoulders back and lifts his chin, and this time, _he's_ the one looking down at her. _He's_ the true pureblood wearing his mask of haughty arrogance.

"If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have let you stay at the Potter's over Christmas," he sneers. "I wouldn't have tried to help you find a way out of your situation. And while we're at it, I wouldn't have pranked you so much, or tried to get your attention like I did."

He knocks her wand away from his chest, and because she's so surprised at his words, she lets him.

"I wouldn't have gone out of my way to set up elaborate pranks just to get you to look at me. I wouldn't be here right now, trying to get you to talk to me."

He grasps her shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of her robes as a wild look invades his eyes. He's close, so close that she can feel his breath against her lips. His wavy hair has gotten in his eyes, but it doesn't lessen the impact of his gaze as he stares at her. The haughtiness resembles an almost frenzied sort of urgency, now. She feels a certain sharpness in her chest; a lingering shock mingled with voracious madness that empties her lungs of air. She can't breathe.

"I didn't realize it, before. I didn't realize how much I fucking want you," he croaks.

Oh. She _really_ can't breathe.

Sirius swallows tightly and whispers, "Say something, Vivian."

She can't. Words require breath, which rattles out of her too quickly to hold. She doesn't know what she wants, suddenly, but she doesn't think it's to hex him. Well actually, that isn't true. She does know what she wants. She's known it for a while now, only she hadn't let herself dwell on it for fear of her never obtaining it in full. What she _really_ wants, above all else, is for him to mean everything he's just said to her.

She thinks she fucking loves him, too, which is undoubtedly why she ends up rasping, "I hate you, Sirius Black."

If Sirius didn't know her as well as he does, he might not have heard what she's really saying. But, as it is…

His mouth swings up slightly, and in the quietest voice he's ever used, he breathes, "I hate you too, Vivian Blair," and then, before he can think twice about it, or hesitate for too long, he closes the distance between them.

Now Sirius has had his fair share of first kisses, but this is not like any other first kiss he has had. It is not soft, or slow, or reverent. It is not delicate, and there is no awkward hesitance as two souls are opened to the other for the first time. No, delicacy is not the word he would use to describe this kiss.

This is like walking headfirst into the forest fire. It's feeling the flames lick at your skin and sear their way into your heart. It's sacrificing yourself to the burning and not giving a damn. It's being so cold for so long that the fire is nothing short of intoxicating. Your thoughts become ashes; your heart becomes fuel.

He kisses her like that, in the middle of the empty classroom that had just witnessed such angry words. And she – well, honestly she doesn't know what she does, only that, despite herself, she ends up winding her arms tightly around his neck and hauling him closer to her own burning heart.

And it is burning, in a way in never has before. The heat of his mouth on hers and the way his hands curl up around the sides of her face is exhilarating. She shoves one hand into his hair and curls her fingers into it, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. The breathless way he sinks into her makes her wonder why they've never done this before, and all she can do is inhale the scent of him and lose herself in the angry way he devours her.

She's never been kissed like this, before, and it's difficult for her to ignore the intense desire that begins to unfurl through her body. She shifts her fingers into the collar of his shirt and clenches them into the fabric. Her knuckle presses just so against the base of his throat, grazing searing skin. She kisses him harder, her mouth insistent and demanding – furious, almost, as if the remnants of their argument presses into the movement of their mouths.

He nips at her mouth, tongue grazing her bottom lip. One hand trails down to her waist, where he slips his arm around her and clenches his fingers into her side, tight and insistent. She breathes out shallowly at the possessive nature of his hold and thinks that she oughtn't like it quite as much as she does, because after all this is Sirius Black, and she's kissing him.

She's kissing him. With a jolt, Vivian opens her eyes, only to find that his are already open. She drowns there for a long moment, swept up in bright silver that's made all the more intense from the desire that clings to the edges of his gaze. His breath is hot against her mouth. They linger there even as the kiss abruptly dissolves. And then she's jerking back, and the movement is so sudden that Sirius's grip breaks instantly. He lifts his head to stare at her, silent as the grave and possessing a strange captivation. There is a certain wariness to that silver now, but it's shuddered over with a hunger that only drives the captivation home. And fuck it all if she doesn't want to drag him back against her even now, as she pushes him away.

Vivian opens her mouth, and Sirius's eyes dart down to her parted lips as if he wants nothing more than to drag her back, too, with all the wild ferocity that graces his expression. She means to say something – anything – but the heady sight that he makes with his smoldered eyes and mussed up hair halts her thoughts. She suddenly can't think of a single thing to say, so instead, she just takes a shaky step back. The distance allows her to regain some of her breath, at least. She inhales a sharp, deep lungful of air, and realizes that she's still gripping her wand.

That's right. She'd meant to hex him for eavesdropping on her. To make him pay for being such a colossal arsehole. It's funny – well, frustrating, more like – how she no longer feels the urge to do so.

Sirius clears his throat and raises a hand to shove it through his hair, mussing it up even more. He's obviously waiting for her to speak. The silence begins to grow into something that's puckered with awkwardness, the likes of which feels innately wrong after that they had just done.

_What they'd just done. _She purses her mouth and takes another step back. This time, though, Sirius takes a step forward to erase the added distance between them, and looks very much as though he'd like to gather her up in his arms again and say more of those painfully honest things.

It's probably because she wants that, too, that makes Vivian takes another deep breath and turn on her heel. She wouldn't call it fleeing, necessarily. It's more like…preserving her already frayed nerves.

Right.

She makes it several steps into the corridor before Sirius makes to follow. She's already halfway down the hallway before he calls, "You're just going to walk away after all of _that?_ Really?"

Vivian pauses for only a moment, staring straight ahead. She presses down the urge to turn and look at him, afraid that if she does, she won't want to leave anymore. Words escape her. She's still having trouble breathing. So instead of responding, Vivian just swallows tightly and keeps walking, her pace fast and demanding, and prays that he won't follow her this time. She's afraid of what she might do if he does; of what she might admit.

Sirius, for his part, seems to have decided that perhaps it's best to let her walk away this time. He doesn't follow her, but he certainly wants to. There are quite a few things that he wants to do, if he's being honest. His mouth is still searing with the memory of her lips against his. He stands there in the corridor for a long time even after she's disappeared, bringing a hand to his mouth and trying to stop his head from spinning quite as much as it does.

Yes, he'll let her walk away tonight, but not again.

Not again.


	48. Ignis Fatuus

**Chapter Forty Eight | Ignis Fatuus**

**[Foolish fire; will-o-the-wisp]**

Vivian doesn't get up for breakfast the next morning, and her dormmates aren't entirely sure why.

"Is she sick or something?" Rosalind wonders from across the room, casting a glance at the curtains that are pulled taut around Vivian's bed. There's no sign of life from within, as far as she can tell, which is a bit strange because Vivian doesn't usually sleep in. She's often the first one up.

Narcissa pauses as she's fixing her emerald and black tie, looking into the mirror that she's standing in front of and peering at the drawn curtains as well. She hadn't seen Vivian after the situation with Adrian before dinner yesterday, but it's been a challenge to think about anything else. She has a few questions for her friend. A few suspicions to make clear.

"Only one way to find out," Morrigan shrugs, and strides over to Vivian's bed. A moment later, she's roughly pulling the curtains to the side, no doubt in hope that the sudden movement will freak Vivian out and give her a good laugh. There is one problem with this, which is of course that you can't frighten someone who isn't even there. The bed is empty, the covers messily strewn about the mattress. There is no sign of Vivian's wavy brown hair against the pillow. She isn't there, and hasn't been there for the entire duration of her dormmates' conversation.

Rosalind raises an eyebrow. "Well I guess she's already gone down to breakfast," she reasons, and thinks no further about it.

But Vivian hasn't gone down to breakfast. She's not in the Great Hall when the three of them arrive. She isn't primly stirring cream into her tea or drawling out half-awake insults to the younger students. Narcissa finds it strange, but Morrigan and Rosalind don't question it. It's not as if they care if Vivian misses breakfast, and besides, it's not the first meal she's skipped in the last few weeks. She must simply be in the library, or taking part in some other duty that she hadn't bothered informing them about.

It's only when they're leaving the Great Hall some thirty minutes later that Vivian shows herself, though not quite in the manner that they're expecting. After all, it isn't as if there was an early morning Quidditch practice today, otherwise Morrigan would have gotten up for it lest she risked Avery's wrath. So when the doors of the castle swing open and Vivian strides into the main corridor with windblown hair and her Silver Arrow in hand, the others are rightfully confused. There's a strange, distant look in her eyes that has them all raising eyebrows, especially when she nearly walks right past them without even seeing them.

"Oi!" Morrigan calls, feeling a touch insulted at being so callously ignored.

It's clear, though, when Vivian jumps a bit and turns to face them, that she hadn't meant to ignore them. The distant look in her eyes vanishes slightly, but it's still there even as she changes course and walks towards them. She looks strangely unsure, as if she's a ghost floating around with no real destination.

"Were you at the pitch?" Rosalind questions, rather unnecessarily. She looks somewhat horrified at Vivian's unkempt appearance. Beside the windblown hair and the distant eyes, her friend looks positively ruffled. She's wearing a jumper thrown on over a button-up shirt, whose buttons are out of order, and a pair of black trousers that she must have dug up from the bottom of her trunk, because they're wrinkled. Now Vivian Blair might not be as obsessed with fashion as Rosalind, but she never goes out in public looking so disheveled.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow and peers at the buttons of her shirt. "You weren't snogging someone in the locker rooms, were you?"

Morrigan's mention of snogging sessions certainly draws an unexpected reaction from Vivian, who promptly stiffens and blinks back the hazy look in her eyes. She looks at Morrigan with startled eyes, and blushes.

"Of course not. Don't be an idiot," Vivian staunchly denies, a little too quickly.

Morrigan crosses her arms and sends her an incredulous look. "Merlin's Balls, you _were,_ weren't you? Who was it, then?"

Vivian swallows tightly and clenches her teeth. Contrary to Morrigan's belief, she _wasn't_ snogging anyone in the locker rooms. She definitely isn't the sort of person who would just – just grab someone and start kissing them. Right - she _hates_ kissing.

"Fuck off, Flint," Vivian moodily returns, and turns on her heel to head back to the Slytherin common room. She needs to change into her school uniform. The first class of the day, which is Defense Against the Dark Arts, starts in roughly half an hour.

Merlin. Snogging someone in the locker rooms. As if! She'd gone out to the pitch to fly, obviously. It's a wonderful thing to do when you need to clear your mind, and Vivian's mind is desperately in need of clearing. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked as well as she'd thought it would, because her thoughts are still spinning even as she snaps at Rosalind to stop guessing who she'd dragged into her non-existent locker room snog-fest.

Honestly! Unlike _some_ people in this damned school, she doesn't make a point of sticking her tongue down people's throats when they least expect it. She doesn't stalk people around, proclaiming that they want to help them or shouting bullshit about being in love with them. She doesn't randomly kiss someone in empty classrooms after eavesdropping on them and snooping through their things, because she's not an _arsehole_ –

"I mean, who does she think she is, anyway? Rejecting me like that out of the blue! Someone ought to ask _her_ to ask _them_ out and then flat out reject her back. Give her a taste of her own medicine."

Vivian freezes. She lifts her head just in time to see Potter and his band of idiotic friends walking around the corner towards the Great Hall, no doubt intent on getting a late breakfast before classes start. Her eyes immediately snap to Sirius's figure, who is walking idly beside James, looking bored.

" – Oh, I know! It was Michael Allerton, wasn't it?" Rosalind chirps.

An inexplicable heat pools in Vivian's stomach at the sight of him. What a colossal arsehole, wearing his uniform so callously. Honestly, rolled up sleeves? Undone tie? He could at least button his uniform shirt all the way -

"She wouldn't consort with the Ravenclaw Keeper, Rose," Morrigan drawls, rolling her eyes.

\- Or brush his damn hair, for that matter. Merlin knows how manageable it would be if he actually put some effort into it. It's practically as smooth as silk, after all.

"What are you on about? Just the other week you were messing around with Sheaffer," Rosalind points out, not noticing the way Vivian has stopped walking.

Her mouth is searing. Merlin. She can practically feel his breath on her lips. The heat of his body pulled taut against hers. The – intensity of his eyes as Sirius looks up and catches sight of her.

Fuck.

The intensity is there again. Grey flashes to silver, and the edge of Sirius's mouth curls up into a smirk as he raises his eyebrows at her. He no longer looks bored. Instead, he looks positively captivated. Vivian stiffens even more. She suddenly wishes she'd worn her uniform instead of her current outfit, because he is _absolutely_ perusing her figure right about now as he slows to a halt.

"That's different," Morrigan shrugs. "I'm not like Vivian. She doesn't just snog random people."

At this, Vivian starts a bit and drags her eyes away from Sirius's, who's eyebrow raises up just a little higher when he hears Morrigan's words.

Rosalind sighs. "Yeah, that's true, I guess. She's a lot pickier about who she let invade her personal space, am I right, Blair?"

Vivian glowers at them, forces herself to ignore Sirius's amused expression, and angrily blurts out, "That's not true at all – I snog people all the time without it meaning _anything." _And then, hooking her arm insistently into Narcissa's, who had thus far been content to not add to the conversation, Vivian thunders her way down the corridor and away from that – that _arsehole_.

Oh Merlin, this is horrendous. Now Sirius must think that she'd _meant_ to kiss him. He must be expecting for her to kiss him _again_. To make matters worse, it's not as if she can avoid him very successfully. She can ignore him during classes and mealtimes, but they still have nightly detentions. She'd already skipped last night's detention to work on her task (though she hadn't exactly gotten any work done). She can't skip another without Filch having an aneurism and loading another month's worth of detentions on her plate in retribution.

With a deep sigh, Vivian hastens her way around the corner, dragging Narcissa with her. It isn't until they're several corridors down from the Great Hall that Narcissa drags her arm out of Vivian's hold and demands, "What the hell is going on with you this morning?"

Vivian sends her a glower and moodily grits out, _"Nothing_ is going on."

Fuck Sirius Black for doing this to her.

Narcissa raises a disbelieving eyebrow and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday anyway."

The Slytherin common room is still a bit of a walk from where they currently are, and the hallways are empty for now. It's as good a time as ever to broach this subject, especially since Vivian has been making herself scarce as of late. She's hardly ever in the common room these days, and she always goes to bed after the rest of them are already asleep. Despite Vivian's claims that she's just trying to avoid Mulciber, Narcissa isn't entirely sure she believes her.

Vivian shoves her hands into her pockets and gruffly wonders, "What about yesterday?" as she continues on her way.

Narcissa hurries to catch up. In a composed voice, she questions, "What did Adrian want to talk to you about?"

She watches Vivian's shoulders stiffen slightly. When her friend's prompt response is to say, "The betrothal, obviously," Narcissa knows she's lying.

She purses her mouth and reaches out to slip her hand around Vivian's arm, dragging her to a stop. Vivian looks a bit impatient at the move, but Narcissa doesn't care. She merely says, "I know what's going on, Vivian. I'm not an idiot. Lucius seems to think I am, but I'm not."

At this, Vivian's mouth drops open and she stares at Narcissa in surprise. Narcissa feels just a tad bit insulted that she seems so shocked, and narrows her eyes at her. "Really? You don't think I'd already know that Lucius and the rest of them are all Death Eaters?" She pulls Vivian to the side and says in a quieter voice, "Lucius has been trying to tell me for _ages_ now. I think he's afraid that I'll be upset or something."

Vivian pauses for a long moment before she hesitantly wonders, "…And would you be upset?"

Narcissa pauses, too. "…No, I suppose not. I mean, I don't think it's wise, what with the Ministry being so up-in-arms about it all, but it's not as if I can do anything about it. Besides," she adds with a hesitant shrug, "I love him."

Vivian doesn't say anything for a few moments, mainly because she's not sure _what_ to say. Narcissa has always been the more logical person in their group of friends. In a lot of ways, Vivian sees her as a true Slytherin – the sort of Slytherin that Salazar himself would have been immensely proud of. She's composed and collected and has the most cunning mind in the school, but she doesn't use her sharp astuteness if there isn't something in it for her. She certainly sticks her nose up at muggleborns and those with lesser blood, but she also doesn't make a show of it like Avery and Mulciber do. She's smart enough to not make needless enemies; she chooses her battles with a more discerning eye. It's just that Vivian would have thought that Narcissa might be a _little_ bit upset to know that Lucius is a Death Eater, if only because it's dangerous. Like she herself has said, the Ministry doesn't take too kindly to Voldemort's followers, and Lucius is intent on joining said Ministry after he graduates. His involvement could spell disaster for their future.

She's contemplating what sort of response Narcissa might give if she were to say any of this to her – if she'd be composed and collected in her agreement, or wrathful in her disagreement – but before Vivian can think of how she might phrase this, Narcissa drops another bomb on her when she cautiously says, "I know you're somehow involved too, Vivian."

With yet another start, Vivian stares at her in shock. Perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised. After all, she hasn't been as careful as she might have been, these past few weeks. Her strange schedule has certainly been noticed by her dormmates, who have remarked on more than one occasion how she seems to be getting little to no sleep and staying up late into the night. Morrigan and Rosalind seem content to put this down to broom closet speculations, but Narcissa has always been sharper than that. It probably doesn't help that she's engaged to someone who also has dealings with the Dark Lord.

"…I'm not one of them," Vivian whispers to her, and begins to wrangle with the sleeve of her shirt as if to prove it.

Before she can unbutton the cuff, Narcissa sighs and darts her hand forward to stop her. "You don't have to show me your arm, you idiot. It would be a bit contradictory for me to turn you in when I'm set to marry a Death Eater in a few months." With another sigh, Narcissa murmurs, "I just want to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. You're not like Bella. I can't really see you going around wreaking destruction."

If it weren't for the fact that Narcissa is apparently more okay with marrying a Death Eater than Vivian would have thought, she might have felt pleased that her friend cares enough about her to say all of this. But as it is, Vivian just feels stiff and tense, and she swallows tightly around the lump in her throat as she searches for something to say.

"…Look," she begins, feeling short of breath. "I'm not planning on getting the Mark. The only reason I'm involved at all is because my father went around blabbing about my hobby for experimenting with spells, and the Dark Lord caught wind of it. I can't tell you anything else."

In fact, she probably shouldn't have even said that much, but it would have been difficult to get Narcissa off her back without giving _something_ away. Inhaling deeply, Vivian sighs, "You can't tell Lucius of the others about what I just said. They expressly told me not to tell you anything."

Narcissa huffs at this and rolls her eyes. She releases her grip of Vivian's arm and mutters, "Honestly…as if I wouldn't figure it out myself. Lucius should know better by now." She says nothing more about Vivian's involvement, though, which Vivian is thankful for. In fact, as they resume their walk back to the common room, their conversation becomes almost painfully inane. Narcissa gossips a bit about the latest thing that Rosalind has done to annoy her (something about using all of her hair potion without asking), and Vivian is struck with a strange discomfort at the light grievances that leave Narcissa's mouth. It feels wrong, talking about such silly things after they'd just been talking about Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

This feeling remains poignant within her as Vivian enters the D.A.D.A. classroom for this morning's first class. It's making her already frayed mood take an even darker turn. She almost can't believe that it's so easily for Narcissa to ignore the fact that Lucius is a Death Eater; that she's still perfectly content with the thought of marrying him, despite it all. She honestly doesn't know what to think about it – whether she should admire her friend for the way she's sticking to Lucius's side or whether she should feel disgust at her ability to brush his darker tendencies away. Her thoughts are churning when she enters Anderson's classroom and makes a beeline for the Slytherin section, and it isn't until she's settling in her seat that her mind begins to churn for another reason entirely.

She can feel his eyes on her. Merlin, is this how it's going to be from now on? Just because she had _accidentally_ kissed him _one time,_ he's going to up his stalking game? She composes her expression into one of haughty disdain before jerking her eyes to Sirius and sending him a dark look, but it only seems to make his mouth twitch up in amusement. And _fuck him_ for drawing her attention to his damnable mouth. Her eyes dart down to his lips for a split second – barely that, even – but because he's staring at her so intensely, he definitely notices. His lips pull back into an all-out grin, and he winks at her smugly. Vivian stiffens and promptly looks away from him. She's _not_ blushing, damn it.

What an arsehole. She moodily gets out her textbook and a roll of parchment as Anderson begins his lecture. This week, they're going over some of the creatures that aren't as well-known in the magical world. Vivian personally thinks it's ridiculous to even bother, since the chances of her running into an Obscurus or a Chimaera in the British countryside is next to nothing, but she throws herself into her note-taking nonetheless. Her studiousness isn't really due to any desire to learn about how to defend herself against one of these creatures, but rather because it's the only thing that can distract her from the furtive sound of Sirius and James whispering to each other several desks away.

She grips her quill hard. He'd better not be telling Potter anything that had happened last night or she _will_ murder him. She already has a bone to pick with him about his eavesdropping and snooping, since she hadn't had the chance to do so last night before he had distracted her with that _horrendous_ kiss. She still can't believe that she had ever conceived of the thought of actually returning whatever ridiculous feelings he'd claimed to have for her.

"Gentlemen, I can't imagine what you could possibly be chatting about over there," Professor Anderson suddenly says, spearing James and Sirius a sharp glance as he pauses in his lecture. They both quiet down immediately. Sirius reaches up to run a hand through his hair and basks in the attention that the whole class is now giving him, Vivian included. As for James…

He turns his head and shoots Vivian a grin of such shit-eating capacities that Vivian immediately stiffens in her chair and narrows her eyes into a thunderous glower. Oh _fuck_ no.

"Oh it's nothing, Professor. We were just discussing Sirius's latest detention, is all," James grins, still smirking at Vivian, who's face is beginning to turn an angry shade of red.

Sirius sees her furious expression and clears his throat, nudging James and muttering at him to shut up, but the damage has already been done. Vivian honestly didn't think she could loathe the Marauders more than she already does, but she's beginning to realize that perhaps it is possible after all. She glares fitfully at Sirius, who looks slightly chagrined at his friend's brazenness, and runs his hand through his hair again.

Anderson sounds rather impatient when he says, "Well I'm sure Mr. Black's detention wasn't so very out of the ordinary so as to make it more important than my lecture. Five points from Gryffindor. Now, as I was saying…"

The pair of them don't even have the decency to look guilty for having docked points from their house. In fact, James can't seem to help himself when he loudly whispers, "Oh, it sounds like it was _very_ out of the ordinary."

Anderson sends him another sharp look which makes James thankfully quiet down, but not before Sirius nudges him again, this time hard enough to make him grimace. Potter doesn't lose his shit-eating smirk, though, which only further contributes to Vivian's anger.

How fucking _dare_ he gossip about her to his friends. She's so pissed off that she honestly wants to march across the room and strangle him. She can't believe she'd let him kiss her last night. She can't believe that she had _wanted_ him to kiss her. She's going to make tonight's detention even more out of the ordinary, because she's going to _kill_ him.

Sirius, at least, looks a bit shameful throughout the rest of class. He keeps sending furtive glances at Vivian that she adamantly ignores, and even goes so far as to try to catch her on her way out of the classroom once the bell rings. Perhaps it's the loathsome glare she sends him as he approaches her – or perhaps it's the way she shoulders past him before he can reach her side – but it seems to make him slightly less smug as the day progresses. By the time he arrives in Filch's office after dinner, he's downright brooding.

Vivian has arrived before him, this time. It's partially because she knows that Filch will have words for her about missing last night's detention, and she doesn't want to give Sirius any more ammunition against her for having overheard any of said words. It's also partially because she just wants to get tonight over with so that she can wash her hands of him again. He arrives just as Filch is finishing up his tirade, spewing his usual drivel about how he wishes Hogwarts still had corporal punishment. Vivian is standing stone-faced when Sirius steps into the small office, and as Filch begins to lead them to their destination for the evening, it becomes clear to him that she seems adamant about maintaining her current expression. It's making him a bit antsy, to be honest.

"Useless kids," Filch is muttering as he hobbles past the Great Hall. Vivian is walking right behind him, and Sirius a ways behind her. He's studying her as he walks, trying to decipher just how pissed off she is and what he should say once they're alone.

"…up to me, I'd make use of the rack down in the dungeons. That'd stop the students from skipping out on their punishment…"

Sirius isn't expecting Filch to push open the doors of the Great Hall and march right out into the cold winter night. He hesitates before following, wondering if the caretaker is leading them to Hagrid's hut or beyond, to the forest. If he'd known that they'd be going outside, he would have worn something warmer. He catches the way Vivian pulls her robes tighter around her frame and pushes down the concern he feels. Filch is such a tosser. He should have warned them to bring cloaks, at the very least.

"…should be a good and proper punishment for being delinquents, at least…"

Filch leads them through the main courtyard, but instead of heading across the grounds to Hagrid's hut, which is lit up merrily in the distance, he swings a sharp turn towards the owlery and begins to ascend the steep steps. There could only be one reason why they're going there, and Sirius does not want to spend his evening scrubbing owl shite off the floor.

With a frown, he calls, "Isn't it a bit cold to make us clean the owlery, Argus? You're gonna give us pneumonia."

After all, the owlery is open to the elements. On top of that, it's elevated far enough into the air that there will be far more wind than there would be nearer to the ground. It's going to be freezing up there.

Filch doesn't seem to care, though. He snorts out a scoffing laugh and sharply retorts, "No less than you brats deserve."

Sirius glowers at his back as he continues climbing the steps, and mutters insults beneath his breath at the caretaker's retreating form. It really _is_ freezing up here. The wind is much stronger this high up, and it buffets through the space with powerful intent. The owls don't seem to mind the cold. Most of them are cooing happily in their nests, huddled together as they doze, but Sirius and Vivian don't exactly have feathers to insulate them from the cold, and he's got a feeling that she isn't about to invite him to huddle against her for extra warmth.

Filch throws a few brushes at them and tells them to start cleaning before hobbling off, no doubt to his warm office. Tosser. Sirius makes sure to glare at the caretaker until he vanishes, and Vivian makes sure to glare at _him_ as she grabs one of the brushes and proceeds to put as much space between them as is physically possible.

When Sirius turns back and sees said glare, he rolls his eyes.

"What's got you in such a mood?" he demands, rubbing his arms as a particularly fierce gust of wind buffets through the owlery. He'll admit that the question probably isn't the best thing to ask, considering that he happens to know exactly why she's in the mood she's in. He probably shouldn't have let James take the micky out of him during D.A.D.A. that morning, especially when he knew full well that it would annoy her. It's just that he hadn't had the chance to tell James about the kiss last night because he had some sort of Head Boy thing going on, and he hadn't thought to discuss it in the Great Hall over breakfast because he'd still been reeling from the sight of Vivian looking so fucking perfect with her windblown hair and her mussed up jumper.

All things considered, he should probably expect the way Vivian immediately clenches her fingers around the brush she's holding and – moments later – sends it flying at him like a crazy banshee.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?" he demands moodily, rubbing his chest where the brush had hit him and sending a doleful glower at her.

Vivian stands up and barks, "What was that for? Are you fucking _serious?" _He opens his mouth to deliver his usual bad joke, but Vivian cuts him off before he can, which is probably just as well because she doesn't look like she's in the mood for jokes. "I can't bloody believe you gossiped to Potter about me like some adolescent teenage girl!" she explodes, clenching her hands at her side as a thunderous look enters her eyes.

Sirius's mouth drops mouth. "I am _not_ like an adolescent teenage g – "

"As if I want the whole school knowing that you fucking kissed me last night!" she adds, not letting him defend himself.

He lets out an incredulous laugh. "You kissed me back!"

"And while we're on the subject of that deplorable kiss – "

"_Deplorable?!"_

" – it didn't mean anything, so don't do it again," she says scathingly, and marches over to him to grab her brush before attempting to make a quick escape back to her corner. Only she doesn't get the chance to, because Sirius loops his hand around her arm and hauls her to a stop before she can.

"Okay fine, I apologize for telling James about our incredible kiss, but he's my best mate and I tell him everything. And you kissed me like you meant to, Vivian, so don't deny that you weren't completely swept away by it," he growls, voice low.

Vivian rips her arms free and turns to face him with a sneer etched onto her face. "I'm not going to be another notch in your belt, Black."

He purses his mouth at her and demands, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?", even though he knows damn well.

"It means that you're still the same womanizing arsehole that you've always been and I'm not going to play into whatever game your concocting in your fucked up head," she bitterly responds.

He looks understandably upset by this. "That's not fair. I'm not playing games with you."

She doesn't look even a little bit convinced, which only serves to make him more upset. He feels his heart clench bitterly in his chest. His voice is angry when he scoffs, "You honestly think I'd kiss you like that if I wasn't crazy about you? Give me a bit more credit, Blair."

She doesn't want to give him any credit, though. This is obvious enough when her scowl turns a few shades darker and she sneers, "Why should I trust you when you eavesdrop on my conversations – "

"For the last fucking time, I only did that because I'm worried about you and you aren't letting me help you!" he erupts, raising his voice. "I'm not going to sit around and let you get yourself killed, all because you're too much of a coward to go to Dumbledore!"

"That doesn't give you the right to listen in on my private conversations!" she blasts back, raising her voice too. Then, with a dark sneer, she growls, "And I'm _not a coward."_

Sirius barks out a laugh. "From where I'm standing, you definitely look like one. You can't just cater to Voldemort like this, Vivian! He's going to expect you to join him and _then_ what are you gonna do?!"

"I'm not catering to the Dark Lord – "

"Look at you, you're already referring to him like you're one of his followers," Sirius sneers.

She steps closer to him in her anger and hisses, "I have a plan, Black. I know what I'm doing."

He steps closer too and grits out, "You're _floundering,_ Vivian. If you keep this up, you're going to cut off all of your escape routes. If you just talk to Dumbledore, he can – "

"Is that why you kissed me? Because you're trying to manipulate me into doing what you want?" she cuts him off, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring up at him.

Sirius's mouth drops open in shock. He seems to be at a loss for words – until his anger sweeps through him with such potency that he grits his teeth and growls, "No. That's not why I kissed you and you fucking know it."

She sneers out a laugh.

"I don't know why you do half the things you do."

"Well_ I_ don't know why you have to be so stubborn about not admitting your feelings for me!"

"Stop glorifying yourself. I don't have _feelings_ for you."

"You kissed me like your life depended on it last night," he growls, inching forward.

"I did not!" she splutters. "You were the one who _forced_ yourself on me!"

"_Forced myself on you?_ You have got to be kidding me!"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?!"

"You _look_ like you're denying the fact that you're as crazy about me as I am about you!"

"If by 'crazy' you mean 'inclined to strangle you for being such a fucking prat', then I guess I am!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not messing around with you?!" he yells.

"At least a thousand more!" she yells back, then falls silent because she hadn't realized just how close they are to each other.

Sirius falls silent too. The sudden quiet seems to make him realize this, too, because his eyes are flashing darkly into hers, but this time it isn't because his gaze is full of fire. Well, it _is_ fire, but it isn't the angry sort. Vivian isn't entirely sure what comes over her when she reaches out, grasps the collar of his shirt, and hauls him into her. All she knows is that when his mouth covers hers, her anger is given an entirely new outlet, and she makes full use of it.

Sirius grunts in surprise as she furiously kisses him, moving her hold from his shirt to dig her fingers into his shoulders. Her grasp is clawing and just as angry as her lips, but to be perfectly honest, he really can't complain.

"_Fuck,_ Vivian – " he growls, and grabs her waist to erase whatever lingering distance remains between them. As her body is pressed flush against his, he hoarsely mumbles, "You're such a – such a fucking stubborn – you make me _crazy – "_

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip and sneers, "Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Sirius."

And he does. Oh, he does.

If last night's kiss was fierce, it really doesn't hold a candle to this one. If that kiss was wildfire, this one is like an ocean. She sinks into it as if she's drowning, and he sinks with her.

Before she realizes it, she's being pressed against one of the wooden pillars of the owlery. Sirius's hands shift over her waist and settle at her hips, hauling them against his as he follows her back. Her fingers dart up to his face, thumbs following the arch of his cheekbones. The subtle scratch of five o'clock shadow against her fingertips has the strangest effect on her. She feels desire, hot and steady, shudder just so beneath her skin. She pulls his face insistently towards her, her grip almost bruising, and lets out the smallest, most breathless sigh.

Sirius sighs out too and tangles his fingers into her robes, shifting them beneath the black fabric and running his thumb over the waistband of her skirt. It takes him a moment more to work up the courage to go any further. When he does brush his fingers against the warm skin of her lower back, he figures that it's just as well that Filch hadn't warned them to bring cloaks, because fuck it all if the noise Vivian makes doesn't have his breath rushing out of him and his heart thrumming painfully in his chest.

He honestly doesn't think he's ever been kissed like this before. Vivian is completely unapologetic and perfectly callous. Her mouth moves with a fierce hunger. He feels the most alluring sense of possessiveness from her, and it's completely intoxicating.

A freezing gust of wind drives through the owlery that they are supposed to be cleaning, splintering against their skin. It's a bit like a bucket of ice water and it seems to bring with it a small shard of lost sensibilities, because their kiss slows down slightly. For a moment, Vivian shivers into him, impelled by the warmth of his body, but then she seems to realize just how feverishly she'd just been kissing him and how contradictory she's being, and she pulls back.

Except – this time, Sirius doesn't let her draw away from him completely. He inhales a sharp breath of cold air and heaves, "Oh no – you are not going to keep denying that you want me, Vivian – " and promptly cuts himself off as his lips find hers once more.

Vivian breathes out and kisses him back. Denying that she wants him is rather exhausting at this point, after all. Especially when he's kissing her like _this_.

Her hands disappear into his hair, delighting in the silken strands of it. Her touch is restless, though; a moment later, she's spinning her fingers down his chest and clenching them into his shirt once more, and a moment after that, she's wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her fingertips into his spine, mapping out the lines and angles of him as if she is an artist sketching the edges of a masterpiece.

And he _is_ a masterpiece. One that makes her head spin and her body blaze with a heat she's never felt before. She didn't think it was possible to feel so warm. It's like her veins are on fire, and they're igniting her in ways she didn't know was possible.

She _does_ want him. Why had she been so adamant about denying it, before? Why had she spent the whole day telling herself that last night was a mistake? Merlin, if this _is_ a mistake, then it's the finest one she's ever experienced.

Of course, mistakes come in many forms, and when they hear the hobbling footsteps of one Argus Filch some time later, the kiss comes to a crashing end.

Sirius breaks away from her with a shuddered inhalation. His eyes are wide, flaring with a danger that makes shivers spin up her body. For a moment, Vivian has no idea why he suddenly turns, fumbles to collect the two brushes that they had haphazardly abandoned some time ago, and shoves one of them at her. It's not until he hisses, "Pretend you're cleaning, Blair!" that she realizes what's going on.

They're about to be found out by the grumpy caretaker, who won't take kindly to the knowledge that his two delinquents had just spent the first half of their detention snogging each other's brains out instead of cleaning owl shit off the floor.

When the door opens and Filch clatters his way into the owlery to check up on them, he not exactly impressed with their performance thus far. He takes one look at the filthy floor, pulls his eyebrows down into a wrinkled scowl, and (because he's out of breath from climbing the stairs), wheezes, "You've barely gotten anything done – what've you been doing all this time, you brats?" Then, grumbling mightily to himself, he hobbles to a rickety chair and barks, "Put some effort into it! Useless students…"

Sirius and Vivian exchange a glance as they throw themselves into doing what they should have been doing all this time, and –

The fiery nature of the look is enough to keep them warm for the duration of the evening.


	49. Viam fatorum

**Chapter Forty Nine | Viam fatorum**

**[Fate's path]**

Vivian Blair is a complete hypocrite.

" – Why do you constantly drag me into alcoves?" Gavin complains the next afternoon, when he is assailed by one hot-tempered Slytherin on his way to the library. It's just after lunch, and the next class of the day doesn't start for another half an hour. It hadn't exactly been a challenge to guess where the nerdiest student in the school would choose to spend those extra thirty minutes, hence Vivian lying in wait for him several corridors away from the library doors.

"What?" she asks, looking confused, and then rearranges her features and drags him further into the shadows behind the statue of Ferdinand the Finnicky. "Don't be weird, Clarke. This is important."

Gavin sends her a concerned look and whispers, "Is it about – "

"It's not about the task," she interrupts, glancing furtively around to see if anyone has noticed them. The corridors are relatively empty, but they're busier than usual because apparently, Gavin isn't the only one who had wanted to spend his extra half hour in the library. Thankfully, no one is expecting to see anyone lurking behind Ferdinand the Finnicky, and walk right by without noticing them.

Gavin's concern fades to exasperation. He sighs and rearranges his robes, which Vivian had accidentally skewed out of place when she has accosted him. "Well I actually _do_ have plans to get started on my Transfiguration essay this afternoon, so whatever it is that you wanted to say, I don't see why you can't say it in the libr – "

"I kissed Black!" Vivian blurts out. Her cheeks turn a faint shade of red.

Gavin stares at her, but not because he's reeling from what she had just said. Actually, her words had come out so quickly that they had sounded more along the lines of 'I kissed back', which is predictably confusing.

"Huh? You kissed what?" he questions, raising a bewildered eyebrow.

Vivian glowers at him, takes a deep breath, and hisses, "Sirius Black. I kissed Sirius Black."

This time, his reaction is more in keeping with the message. Well, sort of. He gapes at her for all of three seconds, mouth dropping open in surprise – before he makes a choking sound and then promptly begins to laugh at her.

Vivian does not appreciate it.

"This is not a laughing matter, Clarke," she hisses, narrowing her eyes into her best Slytherin glare. Unfortunately for her, Gavin Clarke is quite immune to said glare at this point, and it only seems to make him laugh harder.

"Oh sorry," he snickers, pushing his glasses up. "It's not as if you've spent your entire time at Hogwarts loathing the very ground he walks on or anything. How dare I laugh at you for snogging your sworn enemy, right?"

She scowls at him. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you. Now stop laughing. I need to try something to see if I've gone off the deep end or not."

At this, Gavin raises an eyebrow and chuckles, "If you ask me, you've always been insa – oomph!"

Now, the inelegant ending of Gavin Clarke's sarcastic commentary is due to this:

Vivian Blair takes her assailment up a notch by grabbing two fistfuls of his blazer, heaving him forward, and slamming her mouth against his in a decidedly bewildering (and actually rather painful) kiss. What does Gavin Clarke do, upon being randomly (and painfully) kissed? Well, he'd do what any morally upstanding Ravenclaw prefect would do. He squirms back, tries to loosen her hold of him, and splutters, "Viv – mph! Would you – stop – _assaulting me!"_

Upon hearing him, Vivian stops, pulls back, and furrows her brow. "I'm not assaulting you, Clarke. Don't be dramatic. Now stop moving around so much."

Gavin, who is by the by quite red in the face at this point, squirms back even further and exclaims, "Wait! I think you should explain yourself – ". But, of course, his words are promptly cut off when Vivian kisses his again, this time (slightly) more tenderly.

Now. Gavin Clarke does not snog people in shadowy corners, especially people like Vivian Blair, who is a bit too brash and headstrong for him now that he's thinking about it. To be perfectly honest, he very rarely snogs people in _any_ sort of corner, which leaves him in a bit of a conundrum because once Vivian tilts her head a bit and stops smashing their lips together quite so callously, it actually does feel somewhat…nice.

Right. That is, it's alright, for an impromptu kiss being had in a murky alcove. He'll admit that he had wondered what it would be like, to kiss her. At least now he can say that that's over with, and that it isn't so terrible.

Vivian isn't in complete agreement, though. She sighs and pulls away with a muttered, "Merlin, it's like kissing a fucking rock."

Gavin's mouth, which is slightly bruised at this point, drops open. _"Excuse_ me?" he asks, sounding quite offended.

She sighs again and nods to herself, then shuffles closer to him and says, "One more try, then I'll let you have your usual mental breakdown over your homework."

After being likened to a rock, Gavin is understandably less than thrilled with the prospect of doing this all over again, and he attempts to squirm backwards once more. But Vivian, as he knows by now, can be quite adamant about having her way, and any protestations that may or may not leave his mouth upon her wayward shows of affection are promptly cut off when her lips descend upon his again.

This time, it's far less aggressive. She even closes her eyes as she kisses him, and gingerly reaches up to thumb over his jaw, trying to recreate some of the emotions that had seared through her last night. When Sirius had kissed her, it had rattled her like nothing she's ever felt before. Her whole body had felt the effects of that kiss. It had burned through her bones and bolstered her heart into a smoldering fire.

A large part of her had hoped that it hadn't really meant anything. That she'd only felt that way because she doesn't make a habit of sneaking out after curfew to hook up with people like many of her classmates do, and that the fire had only burned her because that kiss had been a shock to her system. It's like when you experience something so out of the ordinary that it sparks through you and makes your blood spike with adrenaline. She was hoping that by recreating those effects with someone else, she'd be able to justify it in such a way.

But kissing Gavin isn't anything like that. It's not a bolt of lightning that splinters through her and sets her heart to alight. It isn't fire and ash and ember, and it doesn't make her blood pump or her body sear. She feels no desire to run her fingers through his hair or to haul him as close to her as possible. Actually, she has a feeling that kissing him would feel like kissing a brother, if she had one.

The thought makes her wrinkle her nose and pull away with another loud sigh. Gavin, for his part, looks quite ruffled and a bit shell-shocked. His eyes are glazed over and she doesn't think she's never seen him looking so unkempt. His Ravenclaw tie is all askew and his black school robes are slightly slipping down one shoulder. She feels this insane urge to snicker at him.

"…In hindsight, I'll admit that this wasn't my best idea," she says instead, clearing her throat as she reaches up to pat her hair down. Not that he had messed it up or anything. Kissing Gavin really had been like kissing a rock. He'd barely been able to bring himself to touch her at all.

Her words seem to draw him out of whatever daze he'd been in. As his eyes lock with hers, his cheeks flush a bright red, and even the vexed tone of his voice isn't enough to overshadow his obvious discomfort.

"I can't believe you dragged me into an alcove to snog me!" he exclaims, and then immediately snaps his mouth shut and peers out into the corridor to see if anyone had overheard him. When he sees that the hallway is empty for now, he turns back to Vivian and hisses, "You really are going insane, Vivian!"

She _humphs_ at him and mumbles, "I didn't _snog_ you. I was just trying to see if I actually liked kissing Black or if it was a one-off, you know?"

He doesn't even seem to hear her.

"And let me just add that I do not kiss like a rock!" he scowls, fixing his tie.

She rolls her eyes at him.

"I've been told that I'm actually a very good kisser," he sniffs. "Maybe you would know that if you hadn't _headbutted_ me. I suppose I'm not surprised that Black's in love with you – he probably does the same to the girls _he_ kisses."

This makes Vivian glower at him and mumble, "I didn't headbutt you. You're so dramatic."

Gavin jerks his robes back into place and takes a deep breath. When he looks at her again, his eyes are decidedly less annoyed. So is his voice, when he grumbles, "No, Vivian – _you're_ being the dramatic one. Why can't you just admit that you like Sirius Black? It's not like it's the apocalypse, for God's sake."

She crosses her arms and purses her lips. "Because I _hate_ Sirius Black. I can't _like_ kissing him. It isn't _right."_

It's his turn to roll his eyes. He pushes his glasses up and announces, "You do this a lot, you know. Deflect." She looks a bit insulted and opens her mouth to defend herself, but Gavin doesn't let her. He holds up a hand and says, "You do. First, you try to ignore the fact that you don't agree with the beliefs that most of your housemates believe in, then you try to use those very same beliefs to justify why we shouldn't be friends. You've been pretending that nothing's wrong since Christmas break, and now you're even deflecting your own feelings for Black. Don't say that you don't like him, Vivian. It's obvious that you do."

Throughout all of this, Vivian gapes at him. When he says that last bit, she appears vaguely sick.

"…Is it really obvious?" she wavers, frowning.

Gavin sends her a look. "To me, it is."

Her only response is a muttered, "Bollocks."

He shakes his head at her as if he's praying for help from the divine and sighs, "I guess I won't be getting my Transfiguration essay done today." Then, taking her arm, he leads her out into the hallway and says, "Let's hear it, then. How did you end up snogging him in the first place? Feel free to skim over the sordid details, I don't really want to hear the specifics."

Vivian lets him lead her down the corridor and grudgingly informs him about the last two detentions. She doesn't go into all the sordid details, but she does explain the way she'd caught Sirius snooping in her things and the shouting matches that have thus far set the stage for both kisses. As before, it feels annoyingly good to get it all off her chest. Gavin makes for a good listener. He's attentive and makes the correct facial expressions at the correct moments: exasperation when she speaks about the shouting matches, and just the right amount of disgust when she talks about what an incredible kisser Sirius Black is.

"I mean, I thought he was all talk, you know? But there's this thing he does with his tongue that – "

"Vivian."

"Oh right. Sorry, I guess."

She opens her mouth to say more, but before she can, she is nearly ploughed over by a certain red-head who storms around the corner right as Gavin and Vivian are rounding it.

When Vivian sees who it is, she immediately scowls. "Evans. _What_ is your problem?"

Lily's angry expression melts away. "Sorry! Merlin, I didn't see you both! Oh, sorry Gavin, let me help you – right. Sorry again."

She kneels down to help collect the books that Gavin had unceremoniously dropped, and Vivian rolls her eyes.

"Honestly. First you drag me behind a tapestry and now you literally run into me. That hurt, by the way," she complains, rubbing her shoulder where it had been knocked into by the storming red-head.

Gavin lets out an incredulous laugh and exclaims, "Oh, so you're allowed to drag people into alcoves, but no one else can drag _you_ into them? I can't believe this!"

She huffs at him and mutters, "I've already admitted that it wasn't my best idea."

Gavin huffs too and shoots Lily an exasperated look. "Thanks," he says to her, and reaches out to collect his books. There are so many of them that even Lily, the school intellectual, seems to think that it's a bit overkill.

As he loads them back into his bookbag, Lily clears her throat and murmurs, "Sorry again. I, ah, guess I need to let out some steam."

Vivian eyes her. "What did Potter do this time, then?"

For a split second, Lily looks surprised to be called out on so effortlessly, but then her expression falls back into annoyance and she scoffs, "He's been ignoring me, that's what. Every time I try to talk to him, he – what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Vivian's face has, indeed, fallen into a sort of deadpan stare, as if she thinks that Lily is insane. She shakes her head, reaches over to grab Gavin's arm, and mutters, "I can't deal with this right now. C'mon, Clarke, I was just getting to the good parts – "

Gavin looks a bit nauseous. Lily looks a bit confused.

"Wait, _what_ can't you deal with right now?" she demands, all hot-tempered like the Gryffindor she is. She promptly follows them.

Now Vivian isn't about to discuss Sirius Black in front of Lily Evans (she would rather choke herself with a rusty spoon), so instead she grudgingly responds, "You're revolting feelings for Potter, obviously. I mean, it's pretty clear that you like him way more than you want to admit."

Gavin shoots Vivian a dry look that she completely ignores, no doubt due to the fact that he had basically just said the same thing to her about her own revolting feelings for Sirius Black.

As for Lily, her face immediately flushes and she adamantly denies, "I do not like him! That's – that's just not true! He's been a complete arse to me for years now – "

"Is that why you asked him to ask you out and then flat out rejected him?" Gavin interrupts as he adjusts the strap of his heavy bookbag over his shoulder. His voice is casual, as if he thinks that the question is completely innocent and justified. He really ought to know better by now, because Lily does not think it's justified at all. She gapes at him, and he shrugs, "The whole school's talking about it. Some of my housemates have a bet going on about how long it takes for Potter to fall for someone else."

Vivian laughs at this. "Really?" she wonders blithely. "That's wonderful. I hadn't realized Ravenclaws took so much notice about Potter's pathetic love life."

Lily's mouth drops open a smidgen more.

Gavin shrugs. "It's a constant source of amusement. Last year I won two galleons for correctly predicting how he'd ask her out at the start of first term."

Vivian nods, "Right, I remember. He got her a bouquet of lilies and nearly tripped over one of the flagstones in the Great Hall right before she rejected him in front of the entire school. I loved that one. The public rejection was a nice touch."

Gavin hums. "He did that the last two years before that, too. It was a simple matter of calculated prognosis."

"Excuse me – " Lily tries.

She's ignored.

"I don't think he'll fall for someone else, though. He's obsessed," Vivian says as they walk past the library.

Gavin shrugs again and pushes up his glasses. "It isn't necessarily impossible. Statistically, there's only so many rejections he can experience before he comes to the conclusion that his pursuit of Lily is a lost cause."

"I don't really appreciate – " Lily tries again.

"That's fair enough, I guess, but what I really want to know is why she asked him to ask her out just to reject him. That's a bit harsh," Vivian muses.

Gavin nods in agreement. "Which is precisely why I've bet that it'll only take him a month or so before he decides to set his sights on someone else. I think it's an good prediction. If he's ignoring Lily already, that's a pretty big signal that he's trying to get over her."

Vivian taps her chin and then turns to Lily for the first time in the last few minutes, eyeing her speculatively. "You know, Evans, if you really do like Potter, you should probably be taking notes."

Lily stares at her.

"Also, I'm a bit surprised that you'd reject him like you did after you specifically asked him to ask you out. He's an annoying git and usually I enjoy watching him get his heart crushed, but that was a bit cruel of you."

Lily splutters and flaps her mouth silently.

"Anyway Clarke and I have things to discuss, so if you don't mind…" she sends her one last poignant look before leading Gavin further down the hallway.

Lily just gapes after them.

* * *

After her discussion with Gavin, who had gradually grown less annoyed with her assailment after they had run into Lily, Vivian heads to her Ancient Runes class. She happens to love Ancient Runes, but even Professor Gillanders' lecture isn't interesting enough to make her focus. The topic of today's lesson is on mixing runes together to create more complicated symbols, and while it would normally be a very fascinating subject matter, all Vivian can think about is Sirius's lips.

"The Ministry uses a number of these combined runes," Gillanders is saying as she stands by the chalkboard at the front of the class. "Aurors are taught the Germanic and Romanian runes in great detail during their training. When it comes to apprehending criminals and the like, runic configurations are often the preferred method for transport. For example, if you combine the runes Isa and Nauthix, you have a resulting rune that acts similarly to a body-binding jinx, but with more lasting effects…"

Gillanders draws the symbols for Nauthix on the chalkboard: a downward line with a shorter mark slashing through it at a slight angle. She draws Isa directly beside it, so that the shorter stroke of Nauthix is connecting both perpendicular lines together. Beside that, she writes 'body-binding', which is probably something Vivian should copy down, but – Merlin, when did Sirius Black become so attractive, anyway?

"…another technique that they use, which makes the runes even more potent. It was first used in the year 1503 by an Auror named Frederick Finnigan. I won't be covering the actual spell that is used to mark the skin with these runes, but anyone interested in becoming an Auror after they graduate will learn it during their training. It's become quite commonplace nowadays…"

The sound of his voice when he'd said her name, muffled against her lips – the feel of his hands searing against the skin of her waist…

Vivian stares blankly at the chalkboard, quill poised above her parchment, and shudders.

Gillanders doesn't seem to notice Vivian's lack of focus. She's already drawing a different rune onto the board, rattling on about what other runes can be combined with it.

"Perth and Hagalz combined will restrict the flow of magic – another rune commonly used by Aurors. This combination will only weaken you, however, unless you add Isa to the symbol. Isa will make it so that your magic is cut off completely, at least for as long as the rune remains on your skin…of course, it's important to draw the runes in the correct order, especially when you're working with more complicated combinations of three or more runes in one symbol…"

Vivian idly scratches some notes down. She wishes kissing Gavin had worked. The thought of actually enjoying kissing Sirius will take some getting used to.

"…some of which have up to ten different runes. It isn't recommended to use many more than that, as the magic tends to become more volatile the more runes you add – yes, Peter? Did you have a question?"

One of their fellow seventh years puts his hand down and asks, "You mentioned that these effects last only as long as the rune is on your skin. So when the runes are removed, the effects wear off?"

Vivian glances down at her parchment and nearly rolls her eyes at herself. Honestly! She's barely written anything down at all. Sirius Black's kissing techniques are definitely not as important as her studies. Right. Definitely not.

As Vivian hurriedly scratches down the rest of the information on the chalkboard, Gillanders muses, "Well yes, usually. For example, criminals will be marked with several runes to prohibit their magic and keep them confined to their cells. As far as I know, the runes aren't taken off unless they are brought to the Wizengamot for further questioning…"

Well this topic is interesting, but Vivian isn't planning on becoming an Auror after she graduates. To be honest, her future is something she's been adamantly trying not to think about. It's a bit frightful, wondering where your life will go; not knowing what direction you'll find yourself moving in, once you leave the safe routines of school. There's also the little fact that she's finding it rather difficult to think about anything but Sirius Black's mouth on hers.

This proves to be a challenge for the entire day. Though Vivian doesn't want to admit it, she feels this fluttering sense of nervous energy invade her body the closer the hour gets to her nightly detention, and all she can think about is how it had felt when Sirius had pressed her against the pillar of the owlery. The feels gets worse when she heads down to get an early dinner before her detention and sees him sitting at the Gryffindor table with Lupin. Potter and Pettigrew are absent, and Lupin seems to be absorbed in what looks like a copy of The Daily Prophet. Sirius looks like he's half-listening to Remus as he reads aloud, but when Vivian enters the hall, his eyes immediately lock with hers as if he's been waiting for her to arrive.

It's difficult to describe the sensation that fills her in that moment, when her eyes connect with his. Perhaps it would be better to describe what she is _not_ feeling:

It isn't the calm and haughty displeasure that she is accustomed to expressing to him. Her face does not fall into the usual cool disregard that she oftentimes makes a habit of reverting to. Her eyes do not pass over his with any of the disparaging scorn that she has been clinging to for as long as she can remember.

No, her mind is a whirlwind and her body is trapped in the center of it. She feels indecipherably cold as she stands in the doorway of the Great Hall; and yet her skin is as hot as if she has just been branded. That nervous energy captures her in its entirety. She thinks with some horror that she might be blushing.

Through the pen of Jane Austen and on the matter of being in love, Mr. Darcy once said, "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

Yes – the middle – perhaps that is where she is, though Vivian has not fully grasped this yet. The middle of anything is, after all, too encompassing to pin down into any one layer. It is not the crispness of a new beginning nor does it possess the finality of the last page. It is like dunes of sand in a desert overlapping one and another a thousand times in every direction. It is impossible to predict where the wind will blow; impracticable to know what future events might shape the intervening years between start and end.

Yes, she is in the middle, and like Darcy, she will not know the moment in which she fell in love with Sirius Black, when she looks back upon these years far from now. She will not be able to summon with any precision the second in which she took her first step into that desert. She will know only that she will get irrevocably lost among those overlapping dunes – that she will step so far adrift that the hope of ever finding her way back to the beginning will be completely and absolutely vanished.

Perhaps that is the way of love. There are too many variables for it to be put into any mathematical formula. Human nature does not work in such logical measures. It cannot be rationalized so demurely. He will not know the answer to this question either, though he will spend many years clinging to the memory of her, when the lights of his youth go out and he is left as a shell of who he was in the times before.

But – that is not now. No, no. Now there is only the heady rush of feelings too tempestuous to put into words and too maddening to even attempt to understand. She feels everything at once: a sublime nervousness, a thrilling anticipation, and the remnants of a long-held anger, that she would feel the first two at all. It is the nervousness that makes her turn on her heel and tear out of the Great Hall instead of eating dinner; the anticipation that makes her pace down to Filch's office early; and the anger that makes her do what she does when Filch hobbles away and leaves them in peace.

Tonight, they are to clean the suits of armor on the second floor. Filch takes their wands, grumbles at them to get to it, and gruffly tells them that he'll be back in an hour to check on their progress. He's barely around the corner (muttering about how they never seem to get any work done), when Vivian stalks over to Sirius, crowds him against the wall near a tapestry of trolls having a picnic, and grabs two fistfuls of his shirt without preamble.

Sirius, naturally, assumes the worst. He raises his hands up and begins to hurriedly say, "Look, I'm not going to apologize for last night – ", but his words get promptly cut off when Vivian pulls him down and covers his mouth with hers. And, well, despite being a member of the most esteemed and dishonorable band of Marauders and having a knack for expecting the unexpected, Sirius does _not_ expect this.

The rest of his words get muffled against her lips, and for a long moment, Sirius just stares at her with a bewildered sort of look in his eyes, as if he's trying to figure her out and is coming up short. Perhaps he can't be blamed. After all, the first two times they kissed, angry words had preluded the moment. It would be a lie if Sirius were to claim that he has a problem with Vivian kissing the daylights out of him – which is, consequently, a rather apt way to describe the urgent movement of her mouth and the insistent way she slides her arms around his neck and drags him closer.

Once his bewildered surprise fades, he is quick to curl his arms around her waist and haul her against him, dropping his head lower so as to kiss her properly. He decides not to question the suddenness of it all. He's kissed enough girls to have realized that they don't always have reasons for what they do, and indeed, that it probably isn't worth the inevitable conflict if he were to outright ask her what her angle is. He might only be a seventh year, but if there's one thing he knows, it's that birds are completely nonsensical half the time.

The other half? Absolutely irresistible.

He sighs out and gathers her closer, quickly losing himself in the manner in which she's kissing him. There's something about the way she's being so unapologetic about it all that he finds completely intoxicating. He supposes he shouldn't question that, either. Vivian Blair is certainly not the shy, naïve sort, nor is she someone who defers wholeheartedly to the prim and proper side of human nature, ever second-guessing herself and overly concerned about how others will view her. She is too fiery for that; a creature of brimstone and ember, with the same sort of wild impatience that drives itself through him. Besides that, he isn't that sort of person either, and he isn't about to pull away to ask her why she's suddenly so interested in kissing him. To be perfectly honest, he has other things on his mind.

For example: the warmth of her body against his and the way she's adamantly pressing him against the wall; the softness of her lips and the urgency of her movements; the way she's got one hand curled around the back of his neck as if to hold him in place, and the fact that she's the one controlling the kiss, and he frankly doesn't have the willpower or the desire to take back the reins.

Merlin, he almost can't believe that Vivian Blair is kissing him. He's only just beginning to accept it when Vivian abruptly stops – and when she suddenly pulls back and takes a step away from him, it's like he's been doused with a bucket of cold water as his senses rush to return to him all at once. His bewildered expression returns.

Vivian doesn't notice. She's too busy frowning as she turns away from him, hands on hips as she gulps down a deep breath of air. To say that she appears quite preoccupied would be an understatement, and to say that it doesn't completely confuse him would be yet another.

"I don't get it," Vivian mumbles to herself, and begins to pace.

Sirius watches her for a moment before shuffling back to lean against the wall. He crosses his arms before drawling, "You don't get _what?"_

Perhaps he should question the suddenness of her kiss after all.

Vivian shoots him an impatient glance and shakes her head. "It didn't feel like this with Gavin."

Sirius blinks at her. "I'm not following."

Her impatience seems to grow. She rolls her eyes and blurts out, "I didn't enjoy kissing Gavin and I don't know why I – "

"You kissed _Tosspot Clarke?"_ he repeats incredulously, and pushes off from the wall. He sounds almost offended, actually, which would normally amuse Vivian, but at the moment she's a bit too caught up in her thoughts to take much notice.

She waves her hand and says in an offhanded voice, "That's not important."

Sirius barks out a laugh and gruffly responds, "I'd say it's a bit important. You can't just go around kissing other blokes when you're with _me."_

Vivian rolls her eyes. "I'm _not_ with you, Black."

He gapes speechlessly at her, mouth flapping several times as if he'd like to argue. He can't, though, because she's right, isn't she? It's not as if they've actually talked about what had happened over the last few evenings, and it would be somewhat hypocritical of him to assume anything when he's been on the other side of this picture before. How many times have girls taken a casual broom closet snog to mean something more? It's just that usually _he's_ the one insisting that said snog hadn't meant anything, not the other way around. It's a bit disconcerting, actually.

"Look, the point is that we should probably stop doing this," Vivian says, nodding to herself as she resumes her pacing. "It just isn't right. I mean – you're a blood traitor."

She doesn't say this with the same scorn that would have otherwise existed if she was trying to insult him, but Sirius naturally takes offense and frowns.

"You said you didn't like kissing Clarke. Does that mean you _do_ like kissing me?" he coolly demands, following her back-and-forth movements with sharp eyes. The brusque question makes her pause for a moment. Sirius takes advantage of her hesitation to slowly add, "I don't know how many times you want me to say this, Vivian. If it takes another thousand times before you allow yourself to believe it, then I'll tell you every single fucking day. I'm in love you, and to be honest, I'm getting tired of this back and forth thing we've got going on."

She's not expecting him to say this again. Perhaps she hadn't believed it when he'd said it before. After all, they'd been in the heat of an angry tirade, shouting all sorts of things that they didn't really mean. Maybe she just assumed that those words had been yet another thoughtless addition to their outburst. But this – it isn't thoughtless, and it's not said in the same tones of impatient anger that had colored it before. Sirius sounds quite resolute now, and he's staring at her as if he's silently daring her to question him.

Well.

"I can't be with you, Sirius," she tells him, eyeing him warily.

He stares at her in a strangely calm manner, accepting her words in a strangely measured way, before muttering, "Figures. The first time I actually tell a girl how I really feel, I get rejected." He scoffs to himself, turns his attention to the long row of armored suits that need polishing, and strides over to sort through the supplies that Filch had left. Vivian stares at him as he does, feeling rather bewildered by his sudden disregard.

She sniffs haughtily and mumbles, "I said I _can't_ be with you, not that I wouldn't…_consider_ it. In different circumstances."

Sirius just hums and keeps sorting through the supplies, lifting a jar of goopy gray cream that looks like it's polish for the armor. He untwists top and wrinkles his nose at the frankly disgusting odor that immediately seeps into the air. He doesn't spare Vivian a second glance.

She crosses her arms and, when he doesn't acknowledge her circular confession, adds, "Maybe if there wasn't a war going on, I wouldn't have rejected you."

Sirius doesn't even seem to hear her. He doesn't do anything to address her words in any way, and it's making her a bit lost. And when Vivian Blair feels lost, she grows annoyed.

"Stop ignoring me," she coldly demands, narrowing her eyes at him.

Sirius, who is in the process of trying to decide if the suits of armor have to be taken apart of if he can just half-ass the process by polishing the pieces that are visible, finally turns to acknowledge her. He raises an eyebrow and waits impatiently for whatever it is that she has to say, but Vivian doesn't seem to have expected his sudden concession and is therefore at a loss for words. She opens her mouth, closes it, and looks away from his sharp eyes as if in discomfort. Her silence makes him annoyed, too.

Eyes flashing, Sirius steps towards her and murmurs, "You know, I don't really understand it either, Vivian. For someone strong enough to hold her own against someone like Adrian Mulciber, you're incredibly thick."

She lets out a humorless laugh and opens her mouth to insult him back, but Sirius doesn't let her. He takes another step forward, crowding her towards the wall, and says, "You say you don't want me, but you get all offended when I ignore you."

Her back presses to the wall. He can hear her breath catch – he's attuned to every reaction she has to him. The flash of heat in her eyes, the way her mouth parts and her head tilts back, her fingers which clench into the fabric of her robes as if she's trying very hard not to reach out for him.

Sirius rests his forearm against the wall beside her head and quietly scorns, "You even thought it was a good idea to kiss _Tosspot Clarke,_ just to see if you could replicate your feelings for me with someone else."

She opens her mouth to reject this notion, but Sirius just adds, "You use every excuse imaginable to distance yourself from me, because you're afraid of what would happen if you admitted that you really do want me. But you know what the worst thing is?" He pauses, studying her closely before murmuring, "You don't trust me enough to prove that I could make you happy."

He swallows tightly, and lifts a hand to cup her face. His fingertips thread into the soft strands of hair at her temple. His thumb brushes ever so lightly over her cheekbone. He watches her eyelids flutter, and listens to her breath shorten, and then hoarsely whispers, "Stop fighting it, Vivian."

Before this moment, their kisses had been constructed from the chafing blaze of anger. They had been tempered with destruction and embellished with madness. They had left her dizzy with confusion afterwards. In wake of their differences, the inclination to write them off had been too tempting to ignore. But when Sirius lowers his mouth to hers now, there is no hint of anger and no violent backlash. The dizziness that she feels at his gentle touch doesn't confuse her. She doesn't feel the desire to disregard the emotions that rise up in her chest as his lips brush just so over hers.

This kiss possesses within it a delicacy that she hadn't thought Sirius Black was capable of. It isn't even really a kiss. The way his lips skim against hers feels more like a caress. It's both overwhelming and incomplete at the same time, so when Vivian slowly slides her hands up his chest and beckon him closer, she does so with the intent of finding a middle ground between every emotion that has thus far held them back. Anger and haughtiness and yearning and denial.

When she had kissed Gavin, her knees hadn't buckled. Her breath hadn't shortened. Her body hadn't filled with the same fluttering hunger that captures her now. Kissing Sirius is different. It's like standing on the ocean's shore and watching the water pull back into a tall wave, and you know that it will annihilate life as you know it but you don't care, and instead of running you just dig your feet into the sand and let it come. There's no way to stop it, and maybe you're setting yourself up for failure, because after all, what could one human do in the face of nature's great strength? But you open your arms to it anyway, not knowing if you're trying to embrace it or trying to stop it, and when the wave hits, the force of it leaves you ragged and amazed in equal measure.

Vivian isn't sure that she feels ragged or amazed, but she does know that kissing Sirius Black is bafflingly perfect. She feels herself relax into the kiss. Her eyes flutter closed, and she loses herself in the touch of his fingers against her temple and in the slow and methodical way that he kisses her. And it's only when he has completely indulged her in this new form of affection that Sirius breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers.

He says nothing for a moment, mainly because he has no words to say. The expressiveness of her eyes when she looks at him steals his breath away. A serene sort of silence drifts over them, so fragile that he can't bear to break it. Instead, he breaths out and studies her, memorizing the subtle awe of her expression and wondering if that same emotion is showing upon his own features, because he feels it just as solidly as she seems to.

"…I could make you happy," he finally breathes to her.

"…I know," she finally breathes back.

They stare at each other for a long moment, so close that he notices for the first time that she has the lightest brush of freckles dusting across her nose and cheekbones, so pale against her skin that they are nearly invisible. He feels the urge to know everything about her, to explore every inch of skin and to talk about all the thoughts that cross her mind. For the first time, Sirius Black wants it all.

He swallows tightly and hesitantly admits, "I don't want to only kiss you in detentions."

She pauses, but doesn't draw away.

"…Sirius – " she carefully begins.

"Come and talk to Dumbledore with me, Vivian," he interrupts, and he looks so genuine and hopeful that she finds herself pausing once more, biting back the immediately refusal that she would have otherwise given.

The wave returns, the waters pull back, and she finds herself suddenly standing on the shore again. But this time when she opens her arms, she doesn't think she's trying to stop it. Maybe she's still dizzy from the kiss, or too comfortable in his arms, and maybe she thinks that she'd like to stay like this forever, because it's safe and warm and thrilling and she's never wanted anyone quite as much as she thinks she wants him.

Maybe that's why she hears herself whispering, "Okay."

Or maybe she's just clinging to the hope that she really could be strong enough to denounce her family and break free of the path that they want her to take. After all, what is fate but an undercurrent that forms the backbone of every choice and every action that you make? Perhaps it is easier to manipulate than it seems.

"Okay," she says again, stronger this time, because she wants this. She wants him.

And she thinks in that moment that maybe he's right – maybe he could make her happy, and maybe she should stop fighting it. If fate is an undercurrent, then surely that means its direction can be altered. The smile Sirius sends her then makes her think that it can, anyway.

There is, of course, one problem with this:

Love cannot be built on lies, no matter how well-intentioned they are, and there is yet one thing that Sirius is not being completely honest about. It is something that Vivian has been dealing with for some months now, but when she returns to the Slytherin common room later that night to find another folded piece of parchment waiting for her, she doesn't think it strange. Her mind is still spinning with thoughts of Sirius, her heart still racing with the memory of his touch. She's never been in love and so she won't see the signs of her own disillusionment until later, when her head is clearer and she's able to finally connect all the dots. For now, she is none the wiser, but there are some who know more than they let on.

"Don't you think it's a bit creepy?" a voice drawls from the entrance of the common room.

Vivian sits up and immediately folds the letter back into its original position, feeling as if she's been caught doing something that she shouldn't be doing. Which is ridiculous, of course, because it's not like she had asked to be given love poems, and it's not like Regulus Black has any right to be so judgmental about it.

"I never said I _didn't_ think it was creepy," Vivian bites back, and stands up to leave.

Before she can, Regulus says, "If _I _wrote you a love letter, I wonder if you'd fall all over me, too."

At this, Vivian stops and turns to send him a narrowed look. The tone of his voice is oddly knowing, as if he's fully aware who her secret admirer is. It makes her uneasy.

"I'm not falling all over anyone. Where were you, anyway? It's after curfew," she points out, trying to change the subject.

Regulus coolly replies, "Does it matter? Anyway, I know exactly where _you_ were."

After a thoroughly warm evening in Sirius's arms, Regulus's words are like ice. His grey eyes are iron. His voice is just as hard.

Vivian lifts her chin and calmly says, "I was in detention, obviously," not letting him know just how much his words have affected her.

But he does know, because Regulus Black is observant enough to see it clear as day in the flash of Vivian's eyes. He stalks forward, crossing the room until he's only a few feet away from her, and quietly scorns, "I never would have expected this from you, Vivian. I thought you were smarter than this, but all it takes is one look from my brother and you cave. It's pathetic."

He glances down at the parchment in her hands but says nothing more, and just sends her a cold look before turning on his heel and marching to the boy's dormitories. Vivian almost can't believe that this side of Regulus exists, but she supposes that she's always known he had it in him somewhere. After all, one doesn't express an interest in joining the Dark Lord without possessing some semblance of darkness. She just never thought he would turn it on her.

She stares after him, wondering if she should just let him walk off or if she ought to defend herself. Her mind is made up before she fully realizes it, though, when she blurts out, "It's not pathetic, Regulus."

She watches warily as he stops at the top of the stairs and slowly turns to sneer at her, still reeling with surprise at the coldness of his gaze.

He scoffs at her and mutters, "Whatever you want to believe, Vivian. Just don't let Mulciber find out that you're snogging my brother, or else he'll throw a fit."

And then with a sweep of his robes, he disappears down the stairs and leaves her standing alone in the center of the common room, his words ringing through her head. She stands there for a long moment before collapsing onto the couch in front of the fire and unfolding the letter again, trying to look at it like Regulus had, with that knowing perception. But she is blinded by her own heart and doesn't come to the same realization that he had, and she won't for some time still. She reads anyway, and not even Regulus's warning can stop her from admiring the words that have been written out before her in her poet's uneven scrawl:

'_Vivian,_

_If time was made of coin, and seconds forged in gold,_

_If moments could be tempered into gilded silver prose,_

_If hours could be weighed as jewels like emeralds in the fold,_

_I'd spend my days informing you of love's tenacious hold._

_If happiness was counted like drops of morning dew,_

_If moonbeams could be captured ere they fall away from view,_

_If such a way existed, to prove my heart is true,_

_I'd send you stars instead of words, haphazardly construed._

_But stars don't shine from up above as brightly as your eyes, _

_Nor do the moonbeams dance with half the grace that you contrive,_

_Your soul is far more beautiful than even heaven's skies,_

_And every constellation in their splendor, intertwined._

_Alas, for all these things are but a figment of the soul,_

_And I can't weigh my heart like jewels or anything so bold._

_These letters are my fortune; these words my gleaming gold,_

_And all that I can offer up are longings yet untold.'_

Of course, those longings _have_ been told, only Vivian Blair hasn't realized it yet.


	50. Nervus rerum

**Chapter Fifty | ****Nervus rerum**

**[The sinew of things; the major things]**

Vivian has only been to Dumbledore's office a handful of times. The first had been when she was a third year and had gotten caught up in a dispute between a group of Slytherins and several first year Gryffindors. House rivalries are a long-held cause of conflict, and she hadn't been immune to them even as a gangly thirteen year old. In fact, in hindsight, they had meant more to her then than they do now.

The second time had been as a fourth year, when she had called Lottie Hardwick a mudblood after she had stolen one of her quills in Charms class. Lottie hadn't, actually, stolen a quill. Vivian had only said it to gain favor with her housemates. Reputations had mattered to her more back then, too.

The third time, she was in sixth year. George Kingsley had been spreading rumors about how she had shagged him in the broom closet near the first year Potions classroom. After several lewd comments made in passing, she had asked around to learn his schedule and had cornered him after class. She'd gotten several weeks of detention for what she had done to him, but it had been worth it.

The last time she had been here had been several months ago, when her and Sirius had gotten into that duel by the Black Lake. It's a bit ironic, really, that they are both here again, for such different reasons.

She's been nervous all day. Partially because of being around Sirius again but mostly because she's terrified of telling Dumbledore about her task. What if he punishes her for it? If he were to expel her, she would have to tell her parents the reasons for it. Gavin, of course, had been quick to inform her that she's worrying too much, and had even gone so far as to commend her for her bravery, but it hadn't made her feel any better. She isn't brave. She doesn't have a single spark of Gryffindor courage within her blood.

"You're doing the right thing," Gavin had said as they had waited outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts for Anderson to finish up with his current class. "If you ask me, you should've done this months ago. Dumbledore will know exactly what to do."

She had given him a strained smile and hadn't responded. _Would_ Dumbledore know what to do? Has he ever dealt with this sort of thing before? This isn't some mundane issue between students. This is a matter concerning the Dark Lord. Dumbledore is powerful and all, but how could he help her?

Sirius seems convinced that he can, though. In Charms, he'd sent her a note that had only two words on it. It had made Vivian's heart race, but not for the reasons she's begun to see as normal, where it concerns him. The words were, 'After detention?', and they were clearly referring to their trip to the Headmaster's office – a trip he is adamant about accompanying her on, for 'moral support'. She had given him a brusque nod and had turned her attention back to Flitwick's lecture, palms sweating and feeling more nervous than she would ever admit.

'_It's not your fault,'_ she's been telling herself all day. _'You didn't ask for the Dark Lord to give you this task. You didn't want it.'_

But will Dumbledore see it that way, or will he only see her as a weak-willed student who is putting his school at risk? What if he _does_ expel her? What would she do?

It's near to impossible to pay attention in Potions. Even Slughorn seems to notice her lack of focus because he pulls her aside after class to ask if she's alright. While he's at it, he harps on her for a few minutes about her marks ("Minerva tells me that you're close to failing Transfiguration, Vivian, and you haven't done that well on last week's assignment – ") before she manages to tell him that she's going to be late for her next class and he lets her leave.

Her mind is in shambles, going back and forth all day. If it isn't for the detention after dinner, she thinks she would have chickened out entirely, but as it is…

"Sugar Quills," Sirius announces to the gargoyles outside of Dumbledore's office.

His hand is grasping hers, and the glance he sends her way makes her wonder if he's only holding her hand because he's afraid she's going to bolt off. It's definitely a little strange, feeling his fingers entwine with hers. A few months ago, she never would have thought that she'd be standing here with Sirius Black, about to spill her guts to the Headmaster.

"…How'd you know the password?" she hoarsely wonders as the gargoyles jump aside and the wall opens for them. She doesn't truly care about his answer, but she feels the need to break the silence between them, which has been building since the end of their detention when Sirius had first taken her hand and had led her to the seventh floor.

As they step through the threshold, Sirius shrugs, "Asked McGonagall."

This makes sense, of course, seeing as McGonagall is the Deputy Headmistress and all, but his brief explanation makes her stomach curdle with dread. She stops at the bottom of the circular staircase, her mouth a tight line, and demands, "And what did you tell McGonagall when she asked why you wanted it?"

Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He turns to face her and reaches up to put a hand on her shoulder, his other hand still tangled with hers. In a calm voice, he responds, "Relax. I told her that I wanted to talk to him about my parents. I didn't mention you at all, so stop giving me that death stare."

Vivian feels immediately chagrined and ducks her head, awkwardly clearing her throat. "Right," she mumbles, feeling quite out of place. His hand is warm in hers and by all rights, it should give her strength, but she feels a bit claustrophobic instead, as if she's being backed into a corner. It's a ridiculous feeling to have since she willingly agreed to this, but she can't shake the feeling even as Sirius sighs again and shuffles closer.

"Look, we might as well get it over with," he placates, speaking to her as if she's a spooked animal. "I know this…thing between us is new and a bit…"

"Unnatural," Vivian supplies, when he trails off.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "I was gonna say confusing. But anyway, we'll figure it out, so just calm down. It's not like Dumbledore's going to throw you out of Hogwarts."

Vivian purses her lips at this, wondering if he's aware that she's been worrying about that exact scenario all day. She doesn't look at him – she almost can't bring herself to – and so Sirius is left to study her downturned face for a few moments before he lifts his hand to her chin and tilts it up. Her jarring silence makes it more than obvious that she's scared out of her mind. Terrified, even.

"He's not going to throw you out, Vivian," Sirius repeats to her in a low voice that's strong and insistent.

Her hands shake. "But what if he does?" she asks, and grimaces a bit at the hoarse quality of her own voice and the way her fear leaks into it. She clears her throat again and adds, "Maybe I'm a lost cause."

These words have a startling effect on him. At once, Sirius's expression hardens, and he takes a deep breath as if he's trying to calm himself down and press back his own impatience. His other hand untangles from hers to cup her cheek, so that he's cradling her face in both his hands as he stares down at her. The force of his eyes is incredibly heavy, but in an almost invigorating way. She finds it difficult to look away from him, as if his eyes are magnetic and she's caught up in the intensity of them.

"You're not a lost cause," he tells her then, and the way he says it, urgent and resolute, makes her think that maybe he's right after all.

Her chest explodes with warmth. There's something about his adamance that does strange things to her heart. It feels like a Bludger is beating around her ribcage, and Vivian finds it difficult to breathe. Suddenly feeling immensely flustered, she swallows tightly and bats his hands away from her face with a faint, "Let go already. You're such a sap. Honestly."

And then, heart beating wildly, she shuffles back from him and ignores the smug grin that's forming on his face.

He reaches out to take her hand again, and his smirk only grows the more Vivian tries to pull away. "I think you like it," he tells her lightheartedly as they begin to ascend the stone staircase.

"I don't," Vivian tells him, but from the way she tangles her fingers more securely with his, they both know it's a lie.

Salazar, if this keeps on, she's going to turn into a royal mess.

The slight playfulness that has cropped up between them in the last few minutes disappears entirely when they reach the door at the top of the staircase. Sirius can't distract her from the dread she feels now that she's standing at the entrance of Dumbledore's office. It seems more imposing than it had the last time she was here.

Sirius doesn't say or do anything as they stand there. He seems to be waiting for her to make the first move. Maybe he realizes how difficult this is for her and how cornered she feels, despite the circumstances that have brought them to this door. Perhaps he wants her to be the one to take the next step because he doesn't want to push her any more than he already has. It would be a tiny bit endearing, if her heart wasn't beating so hard for different reasons, now.

She can't believe she's doing this. Her hand trembles in his and she closes her eyes, but this time, she forces herself not to think about the potential consequences that this impending conversation might bring. She's never been a very optimistic person, preferring to keep her head firmly on the plane of realism and logic whenever possible, but she tries, now, to instill within herself some of Sirius's obvious hope. After all, she tells herself, no matter what happens, surely it will be better than selling her soul to one of the darkest wizards in history?

Right. Finally, she steps forward and reaches for the doorknob, and when she pushes it open, she does so forcefully. It's not because she suddenly feels strong, but because she knows that if she keeps hesitating, she'll never be able to do it at all. She hears Sirius release a quiet breath at her side, but she doesn't look over at him as she untangles her hand from his and steps forward.

Dumbledore's office is empty when they walk into it. As ever, it seems to be a world entirely separate from the rest of Hogwarts, as if they've entered into some strange and beautiful dimension that is not connected to anything they've ever known. Fawkes the Phoenix coos at them from his pedestal, his feathers shining dully in the candlelight. The arched ceilings and pillars and daises look welcoming, despite their coldly regal qualities. The magnificent desk that sits atop one of those daises does not. Vivian stares at it for a long moment, battling with the fear that keeps rippling through her, and nearly jumps when a sudden voice calmly says, "I was wondering when you would come to speak with me, Miss Blair."

Turning so quickly that vertigo pulses through her, Vivian's eyes lock with Dumbledore's, who is standing in a doorway that most likely leads to his personal chambers. He's appraising her quietly behind half-moon spectacles and has a book in his hand, as if she has interrupted him whilst reading. He doesn't seem very surprised to see her, and merely studies her for one long moment before flicking his eyes behind her shoulder to where Sirius is standing. The look that captures his expression then could only be described as curious, but the way his eyes flash with knowing diminishes it slightly.

Vivian can't seem to remember how to speak, but thankfully she doesn't have to. Dumbledore sweeps into the room to settle into one of the armchairs by the large fireplace, and says, "Why don't you both take a seat. Ah, I'm afraid I gave my last Lemon Drop to young Mister Signus this afternoon. He has a preoccupation with the Forbidden Forest these days and Professor Sprout was a bit concerned…perhaps a cup of tea instead?"

With a wave of his wand, a kettle lifts into the air and begins to pour steaming tea into three cups that have been waiting on the table by the armchair, as if for this very purpose. It's a bit unnerving to think that Dumbledore has been anticipating their arrival. McGonagall had surely informed him about Sirius's desire to meet with him today, but how could he have known that Vivian would be there as well?

"Come on," Sirius whispers to her, touching her lower back to prompt her forward. Her legs shake as she steps toward the armchairs.

Dumbledore watches them with that curious expression, but say nothing until they're both settled down. He waits until their teacups are deposited into their hands before he says, "This is quite a different scenario than when we were last gathered in my office. Shall I assume that you've both reconciled with your differences?"

Vivian, still unable to speak, just clears her throat awkwardly and takes a sip of tea. As for Sirius, he appears as confident as ever when he shrugs, "Something like that," and shoots Vivian a sideways glance.

Dumbledore hums knowingly and reaches for his own teacup, which has been hovering in the air beside him until now. "Minerva mentioned that you wished to speak with me, Sirius, but I had a feeling that Miss Blair would be accompanying you. I've been waiting for some months. Ever since Christmas, in fact."

He turns to look at Vivian and calmly takes a sip of tea, as if he's waiting for her to say something. All she can do, though, is raise her eyebrows in surprise and croak, "…Godric's Hollow…you said that on purpose." Then, frowning, she looks up at him and asks, "Did you know what would happen?"

Sirius seems a bit confused with the mention of his surrogate home, but Dumbledore merely hums, "Alas, I was not blessed with divinatory powers. I merely hoped it might prompt you to befriend those who might help you find your way. I've known about your situation for some time now."

Vivian is shocked, and understandably so.

"You've known? For how long?" she asks, feeling faint and breathless. Her teacup rattles in its saucer and Sirius reaches over to take it before she spills it all over herself. She hardly even realizes it's gone until Sirius replaces it with his hand, wrapping his fingers around hers with a firm and comforting confidence.

Dumbledore watches the scene silently. When he does speak, he doesn't answer Vivian's question directly. Instead, he says, "There are very few things that happen within the walls of Hogwarts that I am not aware of, my dear." His eyes flash with that aggravating knowledge and Vivian finds herself blushing slightly when he glances at her and Sirius's entwined fingers.

Vivian swallows and, because she hardly believes that Dumbledore already knows everything and hasn't done something about it, demands, "So you know about the task I've been given? And – Adrian and Lucius and the others being Death Eaters?"

Sirius grips her hand a bit harder at this, which makes her wonder for a moment if he knew that they have already joined the Dark Lord or if it was still just speculation. She doesn't have time to consider it too much though, before Dumbledore is calmly responding, "I've known of their allegiances since before they were Marked. I had hoped they might…reconsider, before they leave these halls."

Vivian finds herself snorting at this. "That's a bit optimistic, isn't it?" she wonders, a bit snidely.

Dumbledore smiles sadly. "Perhaps." He looks like he wants to say more, but seems to decide against it and trails off.

Vivian takes advantage of the silence to ask, "So if you've known about my task all this time, why didn't you do anything?"

Dumbledore turns to look at her, considering her closely. His eyebrows raise slightly when he responds, "Help is only given to those who ask for it, Miss Blair, and I was hoping you would. It seems, this time, my optimism was in the right place."

She stares at him, still gripping Sirius's hand tightly, and finds that she really has no idea what to say to that.

Beside her, Sirius clears his throat and asks, "Is there anything that can be done, then? Can you help her, Professor?" He ignores the look Vivian sends him and just stares at Dumbledore expectantly.

The Headmaster places his teacup down. "I can assist you after graduation, Miss Blair, but I'm afraid that there is little else I can do for now. You've been smart to keep your head down. I suggest you continue to do so over the next few months. You'll be safe as long as you're in Hogwarts."

This is obviously not the answer Sirius was looking for. He frowns and stands up, impatiently saying, "They're expecting her to complete the task _before_ graduation. There's got to be something else you can do until then."

Vivian, a bit annoyed with his adamance, reaches forward to grab his wrist and tug him back into his seat with a muttered, "Calm down, Sirius."

He shoots her an incredulous look and repeats, _"Calm down?"_ Then, turning back to Dumbledore, he passionately says, "What you're saying is that she'll _have_ to complete her task. Mulciber won't let her get out of it. There's _got_ to be something you can do, Dumbledore – you can't just let this happen in your own school."

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows at Sirius and calmly wonders, "What would you suggest, Mr. Black?"

It seems that Sirius has been waiting for this question, because he has an immediate response. He stands up again, jolting out of his seat and blurting, "Expel them," without any hint of hesitation.

Vivian rubs her forehead, but this time she doesn't try to wrangle him back into his seat. She's known Sirius since they were both toddlers, and, intervening years of hatred aside, is well aware that when he gets into one of his moods, it's near impossible to break him out of it. Dumbledore seems to know this too, for he merely reaches over to pick up his teacup again and takes a serene sip of it, quietly studying Sirius's expression over the rim of the cup as he does.

Sirius is incredibly antsy at the lack of immediate response. If he'd expected Dumbledore to jump up and congratulate him for his ingenuity, he's surely quite disappointed, because this doesn't happen. The Headmaster merely leans back in his chair and muses, "When you've grown to be as old as I have, Mr. Black, you'll come to realize that hasty decisions lead to hasty losses. Expelling Mr. Mulciber would only incite the wrath of his father. It would in no way protect Miss Blair from the backlash that would be sure to come."

Vivian shifts uncomfortably in her chair, eyeing Sirius and watching his reaction. To be honest, she can't claim to be surprised by Dumbledore's verdict. It's exactly what she's been thinking all this time. She's tried to tell Sirius that doing something rash would only spell disaster, but he hadn't wanted to listen. Perhaps he'll listen now that Dumbledore is saying the same thing.

Sirius apparently does see reason, for he falls back into his chair after several tense seconds. He clearly doesn't like the situation, though, because he's quick to grumble, "This isn't solving anything."

Another bolt of warmth shoots through Vivian upon hearing these words, despite her efforts to push it away. It's endearing that he wants to help her so badly. She's not sure why she was so annoyed about it, before.

Dumbledore sighs and, turning to Vivian, says, "No, I suppose it isn't. I can arrange a safe house for you after graduation, if it comes to it, and ensure that you'll be protected should Voldemort decide to go after you, but there's little else I can do until then."

Vivian sends him a wan smile and murmurs, "I understand."

Sirius clenches his jaw stubbornly. "That's all well and good, but what should Vivian do about her task?"

The question has Dumbledore looking at her again, and this time when he speaks, his voice is graver. "And what is your task, Miss Blair?"

Vivian raises an eyebrow and sarcastically scoffs, "Don't you already know, Headmaster?"

He smiles slightly, but it's a bit strained. "I know you have been concocting a spell, but beyond that, your secret has remained your own."

She swallows and nods, feeling a bit chagrined for her brittle tone. "The Dark Lord is interested in Inferi." She glances over at Sirius, who is still mostly in the dark about the spell itself, and shifts uncomfortably as she hesitantly explains, "He wants to give them more control, so that they can act without his direct orders."

This explanation makes sense. Sirius had already suspected that this was what she's been up to. The brief glimpse he'd had of her notes some nights prior fits with her words now, but he doesn't like it any more than he had before. It's a dangerous business, playing with Dark Magic like she's doing. There's no telling what consequences it will have, or what results this experimental spell will reap. A dangerous business indeed.

Dumbledore appears quite calm in the face of this truth. He steeples his fingers together beneath his chin and stares into the fire for several long moments, in which the only sound to be heard is the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock situated against the far wall and the subtle crackling of the flames in the grate.

Finally, he muses, "Fascinating."

Sirius looks baffled. Impatiently, he says, "It's not fascinating, it's _creepy_. What could Voldemort want with Inferi, anyway? He must be making an army."

Dumbledore hums, and slowly says, "I am as in the dark as you are regarding Voldemort's plans, Sirius. Concerning what you should do about this task, Vivian, I propose that you keep working on it – "

"Unbelievable!" Sirius interrupts, loudly.

Dumbledore ignores him. "You must think of your safety first and foremost. Don't give your housemates reason to question your allegiances." Then, looking at her solemnly above the rim of his spectacles, he says, "And do not leave the grounds of Hogwarts for any reason."

This has Vivian stiffening a bit, for one main reason. "But I'm supposed to meet with someone in Hogsmeade in a few weeks – "

"You didn't tell me that," Sirius hisses, and is once more ignored when Dumbledore speaks over him.

"You must not step outside of the protective borders of the castle, or I can no longer help you," he warns her. She quiets, staring at him, and he leans forward to solemnly add, "Understand this, Miss Blair: Voldemort's followers cannot harm you while you are within Hogwarts. They have no power here."

Vivian worries her bottom lip between her teeth and murmurs, "But Adrian – "

"Mr. Mulciber can attempt to intimidate you into action, but it is ultimately your decision whether you let him succeed or not," he swiftly cuts in, and stands up in a flurry of sapphire blue robes. "Now, I'm afraid I have several other duties to see to before the end of the night. I expect that you'll come to see me if you need anything, Miss Blair. Anything at all."

Vivian stares at him for another long moment before nodding and standing up as well. "Thank you for meeting with me, Professor," she mumbles to him, and looks over at Sirius, who is still sitting and doesn't seem to be pleased with the results of the evening. She rolls her eyes at him and taps his shoulder impatiently. "Let's go, Black."

He purses his lips and frowns, but thankfully doesn't argue. With a heavy sigh, Sirius stands and mutters, "Fine. We have some things to talk about anyway." The look he sends her makes it clear what those things are. Namely and most importantly, her supposed meeting in Hogsmeade, which she had failed to mention prior to tonight and probably wouldn't have at all if Dumbledore hadn't told her not to leave Hogwarts. She purses her lips too but doesn't say anything.

"Ah…actually, I was hoping to speak with you alone, Mr. Black," Dumbledore says as they turn towards the door. "It's about your Uncle Alphard."

This clearly surprises Sirius, who looks over at Dumbledore with raised eyebrows. "Uncle Alphard? What about him? Is he alright?" he wonders, obviously confused.

Vivian studies Sirius's expression, wracking her brain for some memory of this uncle. She comes up blank, though, not recalling any Alphards at any of the pureblood gatherings she's attended over the course of her life. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to be invited to this particular conversation though, because Dumbledore turns to her and calmly says, "You ought to return to the Slytherin common room, Vivian. I'm afraid this might take some time."

These words seem to worry Sirius, whose brows furrow. He stares at Dumbledore as if he's hoping to procure answers with one glance, but when Dumbledore just quietly waits for Vivian to take her leave, Sirius sighs, "Right. I'll see you tomorrow, Viv. How about we meet in the library after classes, near the Alchemy shelves by the Restricted Section?"

He's so distracted with Dumbledore's cryptic words regarding his uncle that he doesn't even seem to realize that he just called her 'Viv', but she does. She stares at him, clearly taken aback. That aggravating warmth curls through her chest so quickly that there's absolutely no hope of keeping it at bay.

"…Alchemy shelves…okay," Vivian murmurs, her mind still foggy, and turns to leave.

Before she can, though, Sirius snaps out of his daze and reaches out to touch her shoulder, angling himself towards her. His eyes lock with hers, all quiet and warm despite the frustrating results of their meeting, and he murmurs again, "We'll figure this out."

She stares at him as the warmth in her chest turns to fire, and breathes out, "…Right. Tomorrow, then," before taking her leave.

Sirius stares after her until she disappears behind the door, and then shakes away the warmth in his own chest before turning back to Dumbledore, only to find that he's watching him with that curious expression on his face. He feels his neck grow warm at having the Headmaster bear witness to the moment they'd just shared, and clears his throat.

"So…Uncle Alphard?" he prompts, quickly changing the subject.

Dumbledore hums and turns, walking up the steps to his desk and plucking a roll of parchment from its surface. "You were aware, I presume, of his illness?"

Sirius hesitates as a wave of dread pools in his stomach. Uncle Alphard has always been one of the few family members who was on his side, no matter what. He never seemed to find it strange or upsetting that Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, despite him being a Slytherin himself, and would often bring Sirius little gifts from his many travels even after Sirius had grown out of his younger years. For as long as he can remember, though, his uncle has always suffered from a lingering sickness that would sometimes worsen to such an extent that he would be bedridden for days.

Dumbledore studies Sirius gently and silently hands him the roll of parchment. Based on the Headmaster's forlorn words, he isn't entirely surprised to find that the parchment is in fact a will, but it isn't any easier to take the news. He swallows thickly and, as he skims over the document, murmurs, "…He's dead, then."

Dumbledore doesn't respond, but there isn't really any need to. He wouldn't be giving Sirius his uncle's will if this wasn't the case. After several moments of stillness, Dumbledore quietly tells him, "He's left everything to you."

In the wake of the news of his Uncle Alphard's death and the disconcerting emotions that Sirius feels as a result of it, the words scrawled onto the parchment are blurry at best, and the ones he does decipher makes little sense in his current state, so when Dumbledore says this, Sirius is incredibly taken aback.

"…Everything?" he repeats, snapping his head up to stare at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore nods. "His entire fortune."

Sirius breathes out and, feeling a bit faint, sits down in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk. He should be overjoyed with this news. After all, it means that he won't have to rely on the Potters anymore. He can finally repay them for taking him in and giving him a home. Best of all, he'll be able to support himself after school, which is something that's been the cause of a great many sleepless nights since his disownment. The small inkling of relief quails in the face of his uncle's death, though. Uncle Alphard might not have been the most heartwarming man alive – he did have the Black genes, after all – but he always treated Sirius with far more respect than any of his other family members. In many ways, Sirius had looked up to his uncle and admired him for his adventurous and devil-may-care qualities. Alphard was always a bit of a black sheep and they got along quite well due to this similarity.

He runs a hand through his hair and clutches the will with tight fingers, mind swimming with the contrasting feelings of relief and sadness. In the wake of the meeting with Vivian, this is almost too much to take in.

Dumbledore seems to realize this. He takes a seat behind his desk and patiently gives Sirius a few minutes to process the information. After some time, though, he says, "While informing you of your uncle's passing was my primary reason for asking you to stay behind, it wasn't my only one."

Sirius looks up at him in confusion, only to find that the Headmaster is already watching him over the rim of his spectacles.

"Minerva has told me that both you and Mr. Potter wish to become Aurors after you graduate," Dumbledore begins. He seems to be choosing his words carefully, gauging Sirius's reaction with attentive eyes.

Sirius, mind still reeling, just shrugs, "Yeah, we've both been talking about it for a while now. With everything that's been going on, it seems like the right thing to do."

Dumbledore nods. He pauses, turning his eyes to Fawkes and watching as the Phoenix slumbers peacefully, curled up with his wings sheathing his body. With his eyes still gazing at the brilliant feathers of his friend, he says, "It takes some time to pass the qualifications. Are you quite sure you wish to follow this path?"

Sirius, still confused with this topic, says, "I'm sure."

There must be something in his voice – some adamance or strength of purpose – because Dumbledore nods again and suddenly stands up. Sirius watches as he tucks his hands into the sleeves of his robes, turns to look at him directly, and says, "What I am about to tell you must not be repeated to anyone. Not your friends and most especially not to Miss Blair. Do you swear to keep this to yourself?"

Startled now, Sirius frowns and says, "Professor, I don't – "

"Do you swear, Mr. Black?" he interrupts, eyes grave.

Bewildered, Sirius mumbles, "…I swear."

Dumbledore releases a breath and says, "It is for their own safety, you must understand. Discretion is imperative."

"I don't understand," Sirius truthfully admits.

The Headmaster sends him a slight smile. "Allow me to explain. Over the course of the last year, I have been organizing a group of witches and wizards who are of the mind that Voldemort must be stopped. This group is called the Order of the Phoenix. I would like to extend to you an invitation to join once you graduate."

Sirius stares at him. Though he's still holding his Uncle Alphard's will, his mind is no longer churning with the news of his death. His thoughts now spin for another reason entirely, and the grief he feels fades just so to accommodate his bafflement.

"The members that have thus far joined are scattered around the wizarding world in various positions. Quite a few of them are Aurors, but it would be useful – essential, even – to have more Aurors in our ranks. It will be dangerous and I cannot guarantee your safety if you accept, Sirius, but I can tell you that should our efforts prove to be fruitful, it is only a matter of time before Voldemort is defeated."

Sirius's mind blanks momentarily at the word 'dangerous', until he straightens in his chair, looks Dumbledore in the eye, and says, "When can I sign up?"

The Headmaster looks a bit amused. He chuckles slightly and says, "I expected that you'd be interested."

"But Professor, why can't I tell James and the others? I know they'll want to join too," Sirius says, and then in a more hesitant voice, he adds, "And I'm sure that Vivian would – "

"Miss Blair is in no position to extend her allegiance to us at this moment," Dumbledore gently says. "She has too much on her shoulders. No, for now it would be best to keep her in the dark, for her own good." Before Sirius can argue this point, he swiftly adds, "As for James, Remus, and Peter, I intend on informing them as soon as possible. It would be best for me to speak to them myself, that way I can answer the many questions that Mr. Lupin is sure to have."

At this, Sirius chuckles, clearly imagining Remus's desire to uncover everything about the Order before he makes an educated decision on whether to join it or not. He isn't sure he likes the thought of keeping this from Vivian, especially after how close they've gotten recently, but he can understand Dumbledore's perspective on that, too, and just asks, "And when can Vivian know? Once this business with her task is dealt with, I'm sure she'll want to do something to stop Voldemort."

For a split second, Dumbledore doesn't seem to agree, but the doubtful expression flits away so quickly the Sirius almost believes he had imagined it, and the Headmaster merely says, "We will see where she stands once you have all graduated. For now, she has her own decisions to make."

The gravity of these words makes Sirius frown. "Surely you don't believe that she'd choose Voldemort. The whole point of us coming to speak to you was because she wants to get out of this task."

Dumbledore inclines his head graciously and murmurs, "I do not doubt Miss Blair's intentions, only her ability to stay the course. You of all people understands the pressure of her current position. Breaking free from one's family is not an easy choice, and until she fully decides to remove herself from that life, she cannot be fully trusted."

Again, Sirius looks like he'd like to argue, but Dumbledore just raises a hand and reminds him, "You swore to keep this information to yourself, Sirius, and I intend on holding you to that. I'll speak with Mr. Potter and the others soon, but Vivian is not ready to be given this choice."

Still frowning, Sirius mumbles, "Alright, then. I won't mention anything to her for now, but she'll probably be pissed at me for keeping it from her when she does find out."

The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitches upwards. "Yes, I'm sure she'll be quite cross, but it's for her own good." After another moment, they both break out into chuckles and Dumbledore raises his hand to gesture at the door of his office. "I've kept you from your friends long enough, I should think. You ought to head back to Gryffindor tower before curfew, or else Filch might faint from the eagerness to give you another months' worth of detentions."

His blue eyes twinkle just so behind his half-moon spectacles, and Sirius snorts out a laugh.

"I wouldn't necessarily mind seeing that," Sirius says, but rises to his feet nonetheless, still holding his uncle's will.

Dumbledore smiles briefly, but it fades when his eyes alight upon the roll of parchment. In a more serious tone, he says, "If you have any questions regarding the contents of your uncle's will, please come see me. In the meantime, I trust that you'll look after Miss Blair." His eyes twinkle again, and Sirius feels his face grow a bit warm at the slightly teasing tone that Dumbledore's voice takes on.

Clearing his throat, Sirius mumbles, "Right. I will. Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, Mr. Black," Dumbledore responds, and Sirius turns to the door and quietly takes his leave, his mind still reeling.

From Vivian's full admission of her task, learning of his uncle's death and subsequent inheritance, and Dumbledore's introduction to the Order, Sirius definitely needs to think everything over.


	51. Non potest amor cum timore misceri

**Chapter Fifty One | Non potest amor cum timore misceri**

**[Love and fear exclude each other]**

Alchemy isn't really Vivian's thing. It's more complicated and volatile than Potions because of its incorporation of a large number of other subjects – runes, charms, even transfiguration. It's ritual magic, a subject not often taught because of its multidimensional complexity. Still, it's fascinating enough to keep Vivian occupied while she waits.

Sirius is taking his time, it seems. Classes ended nearly forty-five minutes ago, and she's been waiting for at least twenty minutes for him to show up. She would be getting impatient if not for the book she'd randomly picked up. The subject is a bit dry, but she finds herself leaning against the bookshelf and flicking through the pages anyway. Before long, she's rather invested in learning the methods of infusing ingredients with magic before adding them to your potion – so much so that she doesn't even hear Sirius's approach until he's right next to her, leaning down to see what has her so distracted.

Her eyes flick up at him as he does, slightly startled at his sudden appearance. The feeling is quickly replaced by the unquenchable urge to push his hair away from his eyes as he leans forward, and she tightens her hold of the book in order to quell the desire. This is all too new still. She doesn't entirely know how to conduct herself around him.

"Why are you reading a book about _Alchemy?"_ he asks, as if this is the most boring thing imaginable.

Vivian sends him a dry look. "Because you're late, Black. You're lucky I didn't just leave."

He just hums and responds, "Sorry. Got a bit caught up with James's latest drama."

She raises an eyebrow and scoffs, "What'd he do to Evans _this_ time?"

Sirius looks amused at the question and pushes a hand through his hair with a shrug. "Absolutely nothing. She's going ballistic that he keeps ignoring her and he needed a pep talk to keep at it. He was so close to caving during dinner last night."

She lifts her eyes from her book. "You mean he nearly stopped ignoring her and tried to woo her again."

His answering nod is prompt, as if the way he shrugs off his best mate's girl problems. In a thoroughly offhanded voice, he says, "I've been telling him since third year, if you want to make a girl like you, you have to treat her like – " And then he pauses, cutting his words off quite suddenly as a flustered expression comes over him.

Vivian snaps her book shut and peers at him closely, eyebrows raised. He seems to flush even more at her sharp gaze, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at her.

"Well?" she murmurs, her voice drawling just so. She fights back a smirk and quietly demands, "You have to treat her like _what,_ Black?"

When he doesn't respond, Vivian turns her full attention to him. She tosses the book onto the floor and steps towards him, watching him intently as he presses his back against the bookshelf and stares into the distance somewhere above her head.

"You know, like a princess or whatever," he says, a bit too nonchalantly.

Now, anyone who knows anything about Sirius Black would know that treating girls like princesses isn't really his thing. That's not to say that he doesn't treat them _well,_ but plying them with gifts and letting them have their way is more along the lines of Potter's strategy. Sirius is much too independent and headstrong for all that. Armed with this knowledge, as well as the recollection of how quickly he had shut himself up, Vivian has a strong inclination that he was about to say something entirely different.

She shuffles closer, gets into his personal space, and quietly murmurs, "You're lying." Then, in an equally quiet voice, she demands, "How long as you liked me, Sirius?"

The question makes his eyes dart down to hers quite suddenly; storm grey sliced with lightning.

"That's not fair," he murmurs. He seems to have remembered himself, because he no longer looks flustered. No, now he looks like Sirius Black ought to look: reckless, intense, and perfectly impulsive. His eyes flash with what looks like desire, but he doesn't reach for her even though it's obvious that he wants to.

"You can't actually be telling me that the reason you've been such an arsehole our whole lives is because you've liked me all this time," Vivian says, sending him an expectant look.

Sirius rolls his eyes and pushes a hand through his hair again, but he hesitates just long enough to make her wonder if perhaps it's true after all. She catches his eye and waits.

Finally, Sirius sighs and mutters, "If I _did_ like you, then I didn't realize it. Honestly, you're making me look bad."

She snorts and drawls, "You hardly need any help on that front."

A few months ago, a quip of that nature would've annoyed him. He would have sneered an insult right back at her and it would have doubtlessly spiraled into a shouting match, complete with hexes. Now, it only makes him want to retaliate in other ways.

He pushes off of the bookshelf and rises to his full height, leaning slightly into her as he breathes, "I think you've _always_ made me crazy in one way or another, Vivian."

The way her breath catches makes him want to close the distance between them. His blood is beginning to rush through his head, heart quickening as he imagines pressing her against the shelves and snogging her senseless.

Vivian snaps her fingers in front of his face and he jerks back slightly, not expecting the move. She rolls her eyes at him and drawls, "Mind out of the gutter, Black. We have things to discuss." There's something in her eyes, though, that makes him wonder if perhaps she wouldn't be adverse to being snogged against a bookshelf after all.

Even so, he shifts away from her and says, "Right. We do. And my mind wasn't in the gutter."

She snorts. He thinks he hears her mutter, 'yeah right', but decides not to pursue it. If he has any say, though, he's going to snog her against that shelf at some point in the near future, and he's got a feeling that she's not going to mind as much as she lets on.

"So when were you going to tell me about going to Hogsmeade to see that agent?" he asks instead, crosses his arms again as he leans against the bookshelf beside her.

She huffs, "Considering that every time we're alone you end up kissing me, I haven't exactly had an opportunity."

At this, Sirius sends her an incredulous expression and snorts, _"You're_ the one who keeps kissing _me." _ Then, in a smug tone, he adds, "Just can't help yourself, can you?"

Vivian elbows him in the side and gruffly denies, "I do not. In any case, I was _thinking_ about telling you."

He narrows his eyes at her. "Only _thinking?_ What happened to us being in this together?" When she doesn't immediately respond, Sirius hesitantly murmurs, "You know…my Uncle Alphard just died. That's what Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about."

He doesn't mention the other thing the Headmaster wanted to speak about, but it's rather difficult to keep the Order of the Phoenix to himself when he wants to tell her so badly.

Vivian glances over at him and frowns. "Were you close to him?"

He rubs the back of his neck and mutters, "Yeah. Well, he was the only person who ever seemed to care about me when I was a kid, anyway. He left me everything. I'll bet mum is pissed."

He grins at this as if the thought makes him immensely pleased, but Vivian suspects that he's just trying to cover up his sadness. It's a pureblood thing – to appear invincible, even when you aren't. Sirius might not be a Slytherin, but he was raised by a whole family of them, and Vivian can see through his nonchalant grin as easily as breathing.

She hesitates for only a moment before knocking her hand against his. The action makes him glance over at her, but Vivian keeps her eyes straight ahead as she quietly wonders, "What will you do with the money?" With deliberate slowness, she curls her fingers through his, pretending to be engrossed with studying the titles of the books that span the opposite shelf.

Sirius is silent for a long moment. He's still looking at her when he whispers, "Repay the Potters for taking me in. Maybe find a place to live." He swallows tightly, pausing again, and then adds, "…What do you think about staying in London?"

Vivian jerks her head towards him so quickly that her neck aches from the abruptness of it all.

"…What?" she stupidly asks.

Sirius is staring at her with surprisingly solemn eyes. The stormy grey seems darker, like smooth granite after its been polished and lacquered, varnished over to a high, expectant shine.

"London, Vivian. What do you think?" he repeats, eyes twinkling very quietly at her.

When she just stares at him in bewilderment, he shrugs, "I'm partial to the busyness of it all, you know? Though I wouldn't necessarily be against moving to the country either."

He grips her hand a little more firmly when she tries to wrangle free. In a breathless voice, she whispers, "You're moving too fast, Black. I – I can't – that's just not – I hate London."

Sirius raises his eyebrows at her and calmly says, "Alright. We can try the country, then. Might be nice, not having too many neighbors."

His eyes flash at her and she swallows, suddenly needing a bit more space. Merlin, this was _not_ what she was expecting.

Vivian steps back, trying to shuffle away, but Sirius is still gripping her hand and merely moves with her. She tries scowling at him, but it only makes him look amused, and she remembers why she had been so adamant about hating him, before. Thing is, though, that hatred isn't quite the right word to describe what Vivian Blair is feeling in this moment.

"We only just started doing – whatever it is we're doing!" Vivian hisses at him, though she's not angry.

No, anger isn't the right word either.

"You can't just talk about me living with you as if it's been the plan all along, Black!" she adds, sounding frustrated.

Though…frustrated isn't quite right…

"But even if it was, I don't think I appreciate the fact that you're just deciding where you want us to live without properly asking my opinion," she bristles, feeling quite…quite…what _does_ she feel?

She doesn't figure it out until she finally looks up at him and sees the way he's staring at her. Quiet, impassioned fire has lit up the corners of his eyes. He takes a step towards her, hand still gripping hers, and she finds herself holding her breath as she shuffles back.

"Vivian," he murmurs, eyes blazing quietly. "My name is Sirius."

She pauses for half a second and then snorts, "Well I'm relieved that you know _that,_ at least."

A challenging look blazes through his eyes at her attempted brush-off. It makes something inside of her tremble, as if her heart has shifted a little to the left. Vivian clears her throat and takes another step back as something thrills through her chest. It's a strange feeling, really. It's warm and intense, like banked embers on the edge of a hearth; a searing glow that makes her breathless and thunderstruck. There's a small part of her that wants him to keep following her back, until there's nowhere left to go.

"Sirius," he repeats lowly, as if she's a child learning her first word. She's not sure she appreciates that, either, but it's a bit difficult to think when he releases her hand to instead flatten his palm against her waist.

He shuffles them back until she feels the shelf behind her and whispers, "Say it," as he leans closer.

Her breath catches again. His mouth is suddenly only a hairs breadth away, and she's overcome by the sheer need to drag him into her and never let go. It's strong and urgent and she feels her eyelids flutter as his right hand loops around her waist to join the other, thumbs digging just so into the divot of her hips. Her head spins and she's becoming breathless, so much so that when she inhales, it's a wonderfully rattled sound and it makes his eyes dart down to her mouth.

For a moment, they just linger there like that, as if they are two opposing planetary bodies adrift in an otherwise empty universe, their gravities pushing just so against the other; just enough to lock and align. And then one pushes too far, and the other gets trapped in the pull, and when Vivian raises her hands to slide them up his chest and breathe, "Sirius," he crashes into her.

Well, he did say that he was going to snog her against the bookshelf, didn't he? But this is somehow different. It's transient in a way it's never been before; and at the same time, it clamors with a reality that sets them firmly in place. Two gravities fighting for power.

"Sirius," she whispers again, and pushes her hands into his hair.

He lets out a low sound that scrapes against the edges of his voice. Her back is pressed more firmly against the bookshelf but she doesn't mind, even when he curls her arms around her and clenches his fists into the back of her shirt, drawing her hips forward as the force of his kiss pushes her head against the shelf.

Her teeth sink into his bottom lip and she growls, "Sirius," and when he lets out that low sound again, she feels desire unfurl through her like a flag slowly opening against the wind.

"Say it again," he says, begs even – she's never heard his voice lower to such a pitch or form such a tone and she feels a sharp jolt of warmth press through her body when she hears it.

_Salazar. _

"Sirius," she says, more urgently this time, and pulls his head back to drag her lips down his neck.

He sighs out and reaches up to clench one of his hands against the shelf behind her head, as if he means to anchor himself there; like he thinks that he's very much in danger of drifting away and getting lost in her ocean.

Her lips follow the path of his collar bone. When her tongue skims over his skin, Sirius swallows thickly and hoarsely murmurs, "If we don't stop, I'm going to do something incredibly reckless."

In response, Vivian leans back, catches his eye, and purrs, "Sirius."

That's all it takes for him to groan, curl his fingers around her hair, and drag her into him.

Her breath catches again at the forcefulness of the action, but she's not about to complain. Her heart is beating hard and fast in her chest. She finds herself very curious to see just how reckless she can make Sirius Black.

Apparently _very_ reckless, if the way he hooks his hands under her thighs and lifts her up has anything to say about it. Vivian lets out a gasp that is quickly muffled by his mouth, and clenches her fingers into the collar of his shirt as he presses her to the bookshelf. She instinctively curls her legs around him, not thinking about the consequences of the action – of the way it causes her skirt to ride up or effects that this has on the beautifully reckless side of him, which seems to be on a very short leash right now.

"Fuck," he hisses, and slips his hands around her thighs, a low moan leaving his throat at the softness of her skin.

A searing heat trickles through her, so tempestuous that she forgets herself. She's about to tighten her legs around him, to press their lower bodies together completely, when a sudden gasp from the other end of the aisle makes her tear her mouth away from his.

"Vivian?" Mauve hisses incredulously, and shuffles back as if she's tempted to bolt. Her eyes flit to Sirius, who is breathing heavily and still tucked between Vivian's legs.

"Mauve," Vivian gasps breathlessly, pushing at Sirius's chest to let her down. Her cheeks flush deeply at the way Mauve is staring at her, obviously shocked.

Sirius lowers her to the floor, still breathing erratically. He looks a bit lost now that he's not fueled by that recklessness. He stares at Vivian as if he's examining his work – mussed up hair, swollen lips, rumpled uniform – and smiles smugly, not seeming to mind that they have company.

Vivian doesn't look at him. She's too embarrassed. She suddenly _can't believe_ that she'd let him press her against the bookshelf like that, _in public._

Well, sort of. This part of the library is rarely ever frequented, which is why Mauve's presence is so shocking.

"What are you – um. Doing here?" Vivian asks. She has to clear her throat because her words are a breathless mess, and thinks she sees Sirius's smug smile widen slightly upon hearing her voice.

Mauve glances over her shoulder towards the main section of the library before stepping further into the aisle. Her face is red, too, probably because she absolutely wasn't expecting to see Vivian so wantonly snogging _Sirius Black,_ the boy she _loathes._

"What are _you_ doing here?" Mauve asks instead of responding to the question.

Vivian blushes deeper and chances a glance over at Sirius, who now has his arm propped against the bookshelf as he watches her.

"Yes, Vivian, what _are_ you doing?" he murmurs, looking annoyingly pleased with himself. He reaches over to tug at a strand of her hair and smirks, "Honestly. You really shouldn't be seducing me in the library like this. People might get the wrong impression."

Vivian's mouth drops open. She bats his hand away and shoots Mauve a horrified look. "I didn't – I wasn't _seducing_ – it's _not_ what it looks like, Mauve."

Mauve's expression turns several shades more bewildered. Sirius just snickers.

"You absolutely _were_ seducing me, Vivian," he breathes to her, as if he just wants to make sure she knows.

She sends him an annoyed look, but can't hope to stop herself from glancing down at his lips despite him being such an aggravating little prat.

The action doesn't escape him, because Sirius smirks wider as he leans in to murmur in her ear, "See you in detention, Godric," before he squeezes her waist and promptly brushes past her towards the entrance of the aisle. As he passes Mauve, he sends her a nod, and makes sure to smirk once more at Vivian before he disappears.

That – _arsehole._

Vivian releases the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding and groans, slipping down the shelf until she's sitting on the ground. She runs her fingers through her hair as she tries to collect herself.

"You were snogging _Sirius Black,"_ Mauve says incredulously, clutching the book she's holding as she stares at Vivian, shock still coursing through her eyes. "I thought you _hated_ him."

Vivian bites back another groan and mutters, "It's kind of a long story." Then she lifts her head with an expression of belated panic and insists, "You can't tell anyone, Mauve. Mulciber would _kill_ me if he knew."

Mauve steps closer to Vivian and snorts, "Why would I? I don't even talk to Mulciber." But, since Vivian still looks a bit panicked, she adds, "I won't rat you out to anyone, don't worry."

She watches Vivian let out a relieved sigh and groan, "I can't believe I let him do that. He's just so…"

"Fit?" Mauve helpfully supplies, and laughs quietly when Vivian sends her a despondent look. "He's Sirius Black. I'm sure _any_ girl would let him snog her senseless against a bookshelf." She sends Vivian an amused smile and sits down beside her.

A brief silence falls, until…

"So _that's_ how you spend your detentions, huh?" Mauve coyly wonders, and Vivian elbows her with another groan.

"Shut it, McCallum," is all she mumbles in response, and blushes again.

* * *

For the whole of the next day, Vivian can't stop thinking about what Sirius had asked her in the dimly lit Alchemy section of the library. She floats through her classes as if in a daze, thoughts churning with images of a potential future. Living with Sirius in a country house, just him and her. Waking up to him pressing kisses to her neck. Doing all the things they haven't had the chance to do – new and wondrous and simple things, like eat breakfast together and spend actual time getting to know each other properly, without the fear of being caught. They aren't daydreams, of course (Vivian Blair _absolutely_ doesn't _daydream_), but they certainly do keep her mind occupied as she sits in Defense Against the Dark Arts and pretends to pay attention.

It's a bit difficult, though, because all she can think about is -

"_We can try the country, then. Might be nice, not having too many neighbors."_

The corner of her mouth edges up just so. He's an aggravating twat, but he does have a way with words.

"Now let's get some practice in, shall we?" Anderson says. He waves his wand and the notes on the blackboard disappear. "You'll have the rest of the class to go over whatever defensive spells you need extra practice with. NEWTs are only a few months away, after all! I'll come around the room and offer assistance – and absolutely no dueling, or you'll be shipped off to the Headmaster's office faster than you can blink."

The class begins to shift desks out of the way as per Anderson's request. Vivian helps, then pulls out her wand and considers what she needs extra help with. It's as she's doing this that Adrian sidles up beside her and drawls, "I know exactly what spell you need to work on, Vivian."

She sends him an eyeroll and responds, "It's nearly finished. No need to pester me about it."

It's not nearly finished, and to be honest, Vivian doesn't think it ever will be, now, but she's not about to say any of that to Mulciber. Thoughts of life after Hogwarts have never been so bright. As long as Sirius is with her, then she doesn't need to finish this task, right?

Mulciber shrugs. The Slytherins don't seem very interested in practicing their spellwork, because they are all just talking amongst themselves while the other students begin to wave their wands around. Some of them break off into pairs, like James and Sirius. Vivian watches them out of the corner of her eye as she leans against the edge of her desk. They're working on their protective wards, but they don't seem to need the practice, which is probably why they're passing the time by coming up with the craziest hexes they can to test out the strength of the other's spell.

She could do with some practice in protection charms, come to think of it…but with Adrian and her fellow Slytherins just loitering around, she ends up tucking her wand back into her robes, feeling a bit awkward at the thought of being the only Slytherin to take part in the class.

Adrian crosses his arms and looks down at her. "My mum was thinking August would be nice. What do you think, love?"

Vivian immediately sneers, "Don't call me that." Then, belatedly hearing the rest of his words, she sends him a quizzical look and asks, "August?"

He looks vaguely amused at her confusion, and loops an arm around her waist as he leans in. Eyeing her body in a way that Vivian doesn't much like, he drawls, "Our wedding. Have you forgotten about it already?"

Vivian clears her throat and elbows him off of her. "Course I haven't forgotten," she stalls, looking anywhere but at him. As her eyes sweep over the room, they land on Sirius's, and she feels a bit startled to realize that he's watching her. His gaze is a bit dark as he narrows it on Mulciber, who is looping his arm back around her waist and dragging her into his side again.

"Get off of me," she mutters to him, even more annoyed now that she has Sirius's attention on her. Sirius, who has proven to her countless times and in countless ways just how reckless he can be, and who wouldn't be afraid of making a scene. If he _does_ make a scene, it could put everything at risk. It might even make Mulciber question her loyalties. Or, at the very least, wonder why Sirius Black of all people seems to be looking out for her.

"Why should I?" Mulciber murmurs, grasping her waist harder. "You'll be mine soon enough."

Thankfully, an interruption comes before Sirius can lose his temper, which Vivian can already tell is happening even though she's trying not to look at him directly. The distraction comes in the form of one Lily Evans, who doesn't mean to step into the role of Vivian's personal savior. Her part to play in Vivian's current dilemma is in fact very much accidental. It's also very much hilarious.

If Sirius hadn't paused from his spellwork to stare down Mulciber from across the room, then James probably wouldn't see the way Lily stumbles backwards into a desk upon attempting to dodge a stray spell. James certainly wouldn't have noticed the fact that no one else is near enough to Lily to stop her from falling backwards, and he wouldn't have had the chance to gallantly stick his arm out to catch her waist at the perfect moment. Lily wouldn't have gasped and clung to him, and James wouldn't have looked so incredibly cool, as if he was some sort of living embodiment of one of Mauve's muggle superheroes, who rescues at least three incredibly beautiful and very well-endowed damsels in distress before even sitting down for breakfast.

Truly, the way she just falls right into his arms is practically something out of a poorly written romance novel, which is probably why it has half the class turning to raise their eyebrows at the pair. Lily gapes up at James, her fingers clenched so tightly into his sleeve that her knuckles turn bone white. And then, shaking out of his daze, James's mouth curls up just so at the edges as he watches Lily's face begin to blush a bright red, and the class begins to chatter amongst themselves as James suavely pulls Lily into a standing position.

At her side, Mulciber snorts, but Vivian is too busy watching as Lily blushingly extricates herself from James's arms and darts back over to her friends. The glances she throws at Potter makes it clear enough that his charming rescue had some sort of effect on her, because once James's lovestruck stare is pulled away from Lily, the edge of her mouth tilts up in an equally lovestruck way.

Vivian's eyebrow raises at the sight, though Potter doesn't seem to see it. He's too busy getting hauled off to the side by Sirius, who is muttering something to him with a dry expression. He's close enough for Vivian to catch some of the words, namely these:

" – told you, you have to treat her like you think she's a troll, Prongs – "

Vivian eyebrows raise even higher. Sirius Black is such an arse, honestly. She doesn't know why she likes him so much.

But oh, maybe it's the way he kisses her as if he can't breathe without her – maybe it's the way he looks at her as if he sees her, every part, every piece, like she's a kindred soul that he intrinsically understands. Maybe it's the warmth of his hands and his eyes and his concern. The way it rises up in him with all the force of a strong wind. Maybe it's the fact that he wants her for the long haul – or else why would he mention moving in together after graduation?

Merlin. Sirius Black wants _her_.

A quiet smile curves over her mouth. She stares at him across the classroom and feels a bolt of happiness slowly unfold from within her. It nearly overwhelms her, as if it is filling in all the gaps that existed in her person, before; the cracks that had formed because of her parents and her housemates and the fear she's been grappling with for months now, until she suddenly feels as if she could do anything, be anyone.

Suddenly, she doesn't care if she's the only Slytherin participating in class. She reaches into her robe to retrieve her wand and looks down at it for a moment as memories fill her mind. She feels this overpowering urge to try – just to see if she can succeed. Maybe a part of her wants to know if Sirius Black really, genuinely, makes her happy, or if she's just fooling herself somehow.

Mulciber is watching her in confusion as she grips her wands and closes her eyes, thinking about the way Sirius had said –

…_What do you think about staying in London?_

She lets thoughts of him fill her mind. Memories shudder through her like pebbles tumbling over each other.

_You can't just go around kissing other blokes when you're with me._

_Stop fighting it, Vivian._

…_I could make you happy._

He could make her happy. In fact, he _does._

Before she's even fully aware of it, the tip of her wand glows a bright blue, so vibrant and encompassing that even Professor Anderson notices from across the classroom. Her eyes open and promptly fill with mesmerized shock as a form suddenly darts from the blue light and flies into the air, and the entire room becomes so silent that a pin could drop and they could all hear it as clear as day.

"Merlin – that's – twenty points to Slytherin!" Anderson exclaims happily, sounding quite pleased that at least one member of Slytherin house seems to be taking his class seriously. He begins to ramble on about Patronuses, but Vivian is too busy staring at the glowing blue creature in shock to hear what he's saying.

What the _fuck,_ though.

As her side, Mulciber mutters, "Seriously? _That's _your Patronus?"

"Shut up," Vivian tells him, sounding dazed.

Her eyes lift to Sirius's, who looks like he's seconds away from bursting out into laughter at her predicament. She makes sure to scowl at him, and flicks her wand his way to direct the creature forward. Before he's prepared, it bursts through him so quickly that he ends up nearly toppling over, which takes care of the laughing smugness that had only just captured his expression. Well, almost.

He no longer looks like he'd like to laugh. Now, when he rights himself and turns to look at her, his eyes are shining proudly, and, well…

If she happens to send him a giddy smile in response, he's the only one who notices.

* * *

"A lion! That's what I like to call _irony,"_ Sirius laughs later that evening, after Filch leaves them to complete their detention and hobbles off. Tonight, they'll be mopping the entranceway, but they haven't actually gotten started yet because Sirius is too busy laughing at her.

Vivian rolls her eyes and mutters, "At least it's better than a scraggly mutt."

He snorts out another laugh and hooks his arm around her waist, dragging her into him with a grin. "Ah don't be like that, Godric. To be honest, it was actually really hot."

She pauses upon hearing this and sends him a bewildered look, which he seems to take pleasure in because his grin turns several shades more smug.

"…Hot?" she repeats, feeling a blush creep up her neck. She elbows him a bit, trying to create more space between their bodies, but Sirius just tugs her closer and presses his lips against her cheek.

"Mmm," he hums, back her up against the wall. His hand slips around her waist and his smile grows when he hears the way her breath catches. Merlin, he loves that sound…

Feeling a bit breathless now that he's kissing his way over her jaw, Vivian mumbles, "I fail to see how casting a Patronus would be _hot."_ Still, she tilts her chin up to give him more access, and sighs out when his lips begin to trail a scorching path down the column of her neck.

Sirius just murmurs, "You know…it's just the fact that you've got a Gryffindor heart. It's incredibly attractive." He lifts his head to flash a grin at her before continuing to kiss down her neck, pleased with how easily it is to make her squirm against him.

Amid the daze of heat unspooling through her mind, Vivian somehow manages to grouse, "I do _not_ have a Gryffindor heart. Just because my Patronus is a lion doesn't mean – _Sirius_ \- "

He lets out a low groan upon hearing his name and keeps sucking at her skin.

"We have a detention to complete," she breathlessly reminds him, but pulls him closer anyway.

Against her neck, he growls, "Our _last_ detention. Better make the most of it."

Her only response is to tunnel her fingers into his hair and pull his head back, leaning in to capture his lips with hers. He's just starting to sink into the kiss when she stops it, though, drawing her mouth away before he can properly lose himself to her.

"I guess we _should_ probably get started," he mumbles, not sounding at all enthused. His eyes dart down to her lips as if he's hoping that she'll refute his words. What she does instead in slightly more shocking.

Vivian just scoffs and pushes him back so as to slip her hand down the front of her shirt. The look on his face as she does this is equal parts baffled and hesitant. His eyes zero in on her movements with a focus that makes her smirk at him. The smirk only widens when she procures her wand, which she had wedged beneath the strap of her bra.

"Bloody hell, woman. A warning would've been nice," Sirius mutters, trying to force his mind down more innocent avenues. Then, somewhat belatedly, he raises an eyebrow and remarks, "How did Filch not realize you gave him a fake wand?"

She rolls her eyes and steps into the middle of the hallway. As she waves her wand and spells the mop to start cleaning, she snorts, "Please. He's a useless Squib."

Sirius watches her every movement and smirks, "We tried that for a while, but after second year, he caught onto us."

"Well that's because you're all unintelligent Gryffindors," is Vivian's immediate response, much to his amusement.

Sirius's mouth twitches up. So does hers, when she glances over at him.

"Unintelligent Gryffindors?" he repeats, and reaches to pull her into his side. "I'm not sure I appreciate that comment, _Godric."_

She elbows him and scoffs, "Don't call me that." Then she turns to finish up her incantations, and when she's done and she looks back at him, she murmurs, "We've probably got a while before Filch comes back."

His eyes flash into hers, and she holds back a shiver.

With an air of nonchalance, Sirius says, "There's a passageway a few corridors down that will take us to the statue of Deidra the Diviner."

Now, every student who knows the slightest bit about Hogwarts will know that Deidra the Diviner is located not far from the steps leading up to the astronomy tower on the seventh floor. Conversely, every student who knows anything about Sirius Black will know that he is of the mind that bringing a girl to the astronomy tower is extremely cliché. Vivian finds herself raising an eyebrow at the suggestion, and Sirius finds himself shuffling just a bit at the knowing look she's sending him.

"_Sirius Black_ wants to go to the _astronomy tower?"_ she drawls sarcastically, but inside feels an undeniable sense of giddiness at the thought.

He clears his throat and gruffly mutters, "Well, we could just stay here, but I reckon Filch might have a heart attack when he sees us."

She bites the inside of her cheek and murmurs, "…Why's that?", even though she well knows.

Sirius grins at her and shrugs, "You kiss like a banshee, love. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but – "

"I really don't know why you're still talking, Sirius," Vivian interrupts, and turns down the hallway to find that passageway. Sirius has to jog to catch up.

* * *

Now, let us take a breather and check in on a different set of destined lovers – according, at least, to one James Potter, who has spent much of his evening in the warm and cheerful Gryffindor common room. The scene is set: a roaring fire, ambient lights illuminating the crimson tapestries upon the walls, and a corner filled with laughter as Remus, Peter, and James congregate together and gossip about their absent friend.

"It's true!" James exclaims, in response to Remus's thoroughly disbelieving expression.

Peter leans back in his chair as he pulls open a pumpkin pasty. His face is set into a look of perplexed disgust, no doubt because he still isn't completely on board with the idea of Sirius and Vivian being a thing.

As for Remus, he just rolls his eyes and snarks, "Oh come off it, Prongs."

James turns to him with raised eyebrows. "What, you don't believe it happened, Moony?"

His friend huffs and flips the page of his History of Magic textbook with an unimpressed look. "I'm just having a hard time believing that Vivian would let him anywhere near her, is all. I bet he's just making something up to get a rise out of you."

James opens his mouth to deny this, but before he can, an annoyed red-head storms over to their table and he swallows said denial back.

"Here," Lily says brashly, and shoves a piece of parchment into his chest. "It's the patrol schedule for next month. Gavin was handing them out after dinner but he didn't see you."

Despite their moment in Defense Against the Dark Arts, James is still trying to maintain his latest tactic of ignoring her, so he just clears his throat and mumbles, "Yeah, thanks," before tucking it into his book bag and falling silent. He also still very much aware of the way Lily had rejected him during dinner the other night and isn't too keen on being around her right now.

Lily seems a bit taken aback by his brush off. After all, it isn't like him to overlook an opportunity to woo her. She studies him for a long moment, noting the mussed up hair and downturned eyes, and then grits out, "I need to talk to you about something. Over there." She points to the other side of the common room.

James casts a wary look to the corner in which she's gesturing to, and frowns, "I don't know, I have a lot of homework to – "

"Just come on," Lily says impatiently, and pulls him along with her. James casts a frightened glance at Remus and Peter as he's dragged off to the corner that Lily had gestured at. At this hour, it's one of the only empty spots in the common room. The majority of Gryffindor house is piled into the room. At the circular tables, students are working on assignments. Near the door, a riotous game of Exploding Snap is being had. No one seems to take note of Lily and James, which is both good and bad. Good, because it lends them a sense of privacy even in the busy space. Bad, because no one will notice if Lily decides to murder him. He wouldn't be surprised if she was still pissed about the Veritaserum incident.

"So…er…what did you want?" James asks awkwardly, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up even more than it already is.

Lily clamps down the desire to smooth it back and pulls her cardigan around her frame as she clears her throat. "Right. I was told that it was bad form…asking you to ask me out and then rejecting you just to make a point, that is. So I wanted to apologize."

James is not expecting this. His eyebrows jerk up in surprise, and Lily clears her throat again before hastily adding, "And also – I figured I should…erm…thank you for catching me. In class today. When I tripped."

When James's eyebrows jerk up even higher, she tears her eyes from his and uncomfortably mumbles, "It was very…gallant of you."

His mouth drops open in shock. Lily shifts on her feet and watches the game of Exploding Snap with far more interest than she actually has.

"…Was it?" he finds himself faintly wondering.

"Yes, well, anyway. About our deal," she says, changing the subject briskly and turning back to him. She lifts her chin sharply. "Tonight is Sirius and Vivian's last detention, and since they haven't gotten together yet, that means that you – "

"We _have_ gotten together, Evans. Do you live under a rock or something?" Sirius suddenly drawls from a few paces away, his voice quiet enough not to carry beyond the corner that James and Lily are currently standing in. His sudden appearance has the pair of them startling in surprise as they turn to stare at him. What they see is definitely not what they're expecting.

Mussed up hair is usually James's thing, after all, but Sirius Black is definitely sporting it at the moment. In fact, based on the rumpled uniform, messy tie, and bruised lips, it's clear what he's just been up to. If all of these things weren't incriminating enough, one needs to look no further than the very obvious love bite that's currently occupying his neck.

Of course, the smug, self-assured grin is also extremely telling, as is the way he suavely leans against the wall and smirks, "She really knows what she's doing. I think I'm still in shock, to be honest."

James snickers as Lily's mouth drops open.

"…You're lying," she splutters after a moment. "There's _no way – "_

"I'm irresistible to women, Evans," Sirius smoothly interrupts, looking far too pleased with himself. "And Vivian is _definitely_ a woman, let me tell you."

At this, James makes an amused choking sound as he tries to stop his laughter, and Lily's mouth drops open even more as she blushes at the innuendo of his voice.

"How far did you get, mate?" James asks, then sees the offended look on Lily's face and awkwardly backpedals, "Erm – I mean, right, I hope you treated her with the respect that all women deserve." He nods smartly and pushes his glasses up.

Sirius rolls his eyes at him and pushes a hand through his hair. "Please. You should tell that to _her. _She nearly ripped my shirt trying to – uh. I'll tell you later, I guess," he hastily says, glancing over at an indignant Lily. "Point is that you lost the bet, Evans. James gets to take you out on a date now, and don't even deny that you don't want him to. I saw the way you stared at him like a lovestruck idiot after he caught you today."

James's eyebrows jerk up again upon hearing this. He turns to stare at Lily with a mooning smile as her cheeks begin to blush brightly.

"I _did not_ stare at – and besides, that wasn't our deal!" Lily exclaims. "The deal was that James takes some of my workload – "

"And take you out," Sirius adds.

"Right, and take me – _no!"_ Lily says, adamantly. "You can't just add clauses to a pre-existing deal without both parties agreeing to it. You're such a toerag, Black. There's _no way_ Vivian would stoop that low."

Sirius just sends her an amused look. He doesn't seem all that offended by her words. Lily finds out why a moment later when he elbows James and snorts under his breath, "Not _yet,_ anyway."

James chokes back another wave of laughter. Lily blushes brightly again at the innuendo in Sirius's voice.

"Look, it doesn't matter what your stupid deal was," Sirius drawls a moment later. "All that matters is that James can keep bothering you until you agree to stop being stubborn and admit that you actually really like him."

Lily's mouth drops even further at this, but before she can deny Sirius's words, James quickly cuts in with a hopeful, "Just one date?"

The hopeful tone of his voice makes her falter for a moment too long, and Sirius smirks knowingly. It's that aggravatingly knowing expression that makes Lily frown and snap, "Not in a million years! Honestly!" And with that, she stomps off looking a bit flustered.

James stares after her, a bit more despondent than he had been a moment before, until Sirius nudges him and says, "She really _was_ looking at you all lovestruck today."

That one sentence is enough to uplift his mood once more. James grins bashfully. He rubs his neck and sniffs, "I _was_ pretty cool, wasn't I?"

Sirius snorts. "Completely," he responds dryly.

They fall silent for a moment, and then James glances over at him with a smirk and murmurs, "So. You and Vivian, huh? Moony and Wormtail didn't believe me when I told them."

Sirius shakes his head at him and says, "Course they didn't. We need to keep it to ourselves. The fact that Vivian is crazy about me can't get around the school, Prongs – it could be really dangerous, what with everything going on with the Slytherins right now."

James raises an eyebrow at him and decides not to remark upon the fact that Sirius is also crazy about Vivian. In fact, out of the two of them, he's probably the craziest. He's only been semi-stalking her for months now, after all, and talking about little else but her, and shifting all of the targets of their pranks to her just to make her talk to him – well, James digresses. The bottom line is that Sirius is crazy.

"Right," James says instead, though he can't help but roll his eyes slightly at Sirius's proud voice. Honestly, he just _knows_ that Padfoot is going to be overbearing now that Vivian has finally agreed to look past his insanity.

"So…how far _did_ you go?" James wonders coyly, smirking when Sirius's cheeks flush just so.

He pushes James with a gruff, "I was just a snog, Prongs."

When James's eyes flash with mischief, Sirius's face gets a touch redder.

"Okay, okay. Just making sure she's not taking advantage of my innocent little Padfoot," James crows, only to receive another gruff push as Sirius rolls his eyes at him.

They head back to the table that the other two Marauders are still occupying, James murmurs, "You ought to bring her by so that we can get to know her better, Padfoot. If she's gonna be your official bird, she's got to pass the high standards of our Maraudership."

Sirius sends him a hesitant look. "I don't know…that seems like a bad idea."

James though, merely collapses into his chair and declares, "Tomorrow night behind the greenhouses, then. It's all settled."

Sirius is still obviously hesitant as Remus and Peter raise their heads in confusion to stare at James.

"What's settled?" Remus wonders, raising an eyebrow.

James just grins.

"An interrogation, Moony."

"A _conversation,"_ Sirius quickly amends.

"With someone who might become an Honorary Marauder."

"Someone who will _bite your head off_ if you call her that," Sirius rectifies.

"In which we will strive to discover just what intentions she has towards our precious Padfoot."

"You'd better bring your wands because she is going to hex you," Sirius warns.

Remus and Peter merely exchange a wary glance, and remain silent.


	52. Lapsus pennae

**Chapter Fifty Two | Lapsus pennae**

**[Slip of the pen]**

There is a saying: "What goes up must come down". It's a trivial set of words, but there is a ring of truth to them nonetheless.

Vivian is a tiny bit amused at the way Potter is trying to steal Sirius's firewhiskey. He's sitting on the garden wall behind the greenhouses with one leg hanging over the edge, and every sip he takes from Sirius's flask makes him a tad bit more idiotic. Even though he seems to have a love-hate relationship with firewhiskey, he keeps moving it out of reach whenever Sirius tries to reclaim it. Peter and Remus are watching the scene as if it is perfectly normal. That is, the addition of one Vivian Blair is decidedly _not_ normal, but Peter seems too timid to remark upon it and Remus doesn't seem to mind that much either way. Vivian is another story, of course. It would be a lie to claim that she's comfortable, but when Sirius had grabbed her hand during her patrol that evening and dragged her down here, she hadn't exactly realized that they would be having company.

You may wonder what is going on. Allow me to take you back in time to one hour ago, when Vivian Blair was walking down the pitch-black corridor on the second floor, grumbling to herself about having to do patrols by herself. See, she was supposed to be meeting up with one of the Hufflepuff prefects tonight, but he had mysterious disappeared. Vivian isn't sure if this is because her fellow prefect forgot (it does happen sometimes, especially with the craziness of NEWTs on their doorstep), or if he just hadn't wanted to patrol with Vivian because of her reputation (honestly, she doesn't _actually_ lock people in loos, usually). Of course, she doesn't know it yet, but the reason why she's alone tonight isn't due to any forgetfulness or fear of being trapped in the loo. Rather, her fellow prefect is at this very moment hanging upside down several corridors away from the kitchens as he's heckled at by Peeves, who had been wrangled into service by a group of students who just so happen to be members of a dishonorable Maraudership.

Since we are on the subject of Marauders, let it be said that while Vivian Blair no longer loathes _one_ of them, she still isn't crazy about the others. She naturally thinks Potter is an idiot, thinks Peter is creepy, and has a very blasé perspective of Remus. Becoming an Honorary Marauder is most certainly _not_ on her to-do list, which is why she is initially quite put-off when Potter hands her the flask and starts spewing nonsense about joining their Maraudership and shit – but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Vivian is just turning the corner near one of the prefect bathrooms on the second floor when a hand suddenly reaches out to grab her. In the thick darkness of the corridor, with only the light of her wand to guide her, she doesn't actually see who it is until their hand is already clutching her wrist. Now, anyone who happens to be walking through the dark before being grabbed and pushed against a wall would understand why Vivian's reaction is so…well.

"Merlin's Balls, Vivian! No need to overreact!" Sirius yelps as she grabs a fistful of his shirt and shoves him backwards, a hex on the tip of her tongue.

It takes her a moment to realize what, exactly, is going on. By the time she does, Sirius is righting himself just in time barely avoid the fist that's swinging towards his chest. Yes, she _does_ know that it's only Sirius. That doesn't mean she doesn't want to punch him for his little stunt.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she hisses as Sirius jerks out of the way. She points her wand at him and he lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light that nearly blinds him. Vivian looks entirely unapologetic as she growls, "You can't just grab me like that, you idiot – Salazar, I thought you were Adrian."

This sobers him up a bit. Sirius clears his throat and mumbles, "Right. Sorry."

She just rolls her eyes and grumbles, "What the hell do you want? I'm in the middle of my patrols." Under her breath, she mutters, "I'm so going to give that fucking Hufflepuff a piece of my mind tomorrow…"

Sirius hears that last bit and grimaces, "Don't be _too_ hard on him, Vivian." Then, seeing the sharp look she sends him, hastily adds, "Anyway, come on. We're going to the greenhouses."

He tries to take her hand, but Vivian merely crosses her arms and demands, "What do you mean, _'don't be too hard on him'?_ What did you do, Sirius?"

The way he smirks and rubs the back of his neck makes her raise an eyebrow expectantly.

"Oh come on," he snickers. _"I_ didn't do anything. _Peeves_ is the one you should blame. Now hurry up or we'll be late."

Vivian's patience is already at its limits, so when she asks, "Late for what?", it really sounds more like a growl.

Late for what, indeed. She's beginning to realize that Sirius Black has a bit of a silver tongue, because when she ends up being led through the darkened corridors towards the main entrance of the castle, she doesn't actually complain – that much. Of course, she wouldn't be a respectable Slytherin if she didn't grouse a bit here and there, but she doesn't actually try to stop him. Maybe she would have if she had known that Sirius wasn't bringing her to the greenhouses for a snog, but by the time she discovers that his intentions aren't of the romantic sort, it's far too late to turn back.

The first thing she hears when she rounds the corner of the greenhouse is a familiar laugh, which makes Vivian stop in her tracks as a dangerous expression thunders over her face. The second thing she hears is a faint, '…should be here by now,' murmured in a familiar voice, and the thunder promptly transfers to her vocal cords as she growls, _"Sirius."_

He sends her a lighthearted smile. "Yes?" he wonders innocently.

She opens her mouth to demand what the hell he's doing, dragging her all the way down here if he isn't going to make it worth her while, but before she can…

"Oi, Padfoot, Pride! Finally!" James calls as he catches sight of their shadowy figures beneath the light of the crescent moon.

'Padfoot' sends Vivian another innocent smile and gestures to the awaiting group with a dramatic flick of his wrist. "Shall we?" he asks, and presses back an amused smirk at the expression currently settling over Vivian's face.

Apparently, he doesn't need to drag her to his friends after all, because James Potter's new nickname for her makes her immediately stalk forward, thundering across the grass and demanding, "Did you just call me _'Pride'?"_

James just grins and says, "You can't be an Honorary Marauder without a proper nickname – "

"I refuse to be a part of your weird Maraudership or whatever it is you call it – " Vivian interrupts.

"You should really be a bit more gracious, Pride. Not everyone can claim to be an Honorary – "

"If you don't stop calling me that, I am going to _hex you – "_

"Well this is fun and all, but look what I brought," Sirius cuts in, and blindly reaches out to take Vivian's hand before she can pull her wand on James. As Vivian tries to wrangle herself free, Sirius pulls a flask of firewhiskey and tosses it to Remus, who catches it with a laugh.

"We were thinking of making a trip into Hogsmeade for some butterbeer," Peter says, though it doesn't stop him from reaching over to take a hearty swig from the flask. He looks quite nervous as he glances towards Vivian, no doubt wondering she's going to sends curses at them.

Instead of curses, though, Vivian's eyebrows jolt up. "Hogsmeade?" she repeats, sounding incredulous.

"Right. We figured it'd be a good way to see if you have what it takes to be an Honorary Marauder," James explains, pushing his glasses up with a wide smile.

"Excellent idea, Prongs," Sirius says, and throws an arm around Vivian's shoulders before lowering his voice to add, "Just go with it, Vivian. There's no negotiating, with this lot."

Vivian sends him a narrowed look and hisses back, "You're acting as if this wasn't _your _spectacular plan."

Sirius just clears his throat and opens his mouth to respond, but James beats him to it. "It wasn't _just_ Padfoot's idea, Pride. Once you get the hang of being an Honorary Marauder, you'll understand how our democratic system works – "

"Stop calling me that," Vivian snaps, completely uninterested in hearing Potter rattle on about the finer points of their stupid Maraudership. What a nightmare tonight is turning out to be. She hadn't expected this and she feels like a bit of an idiot for thinking that Sirius dragged her all the way down here just for a snog.  
"It'll be fun, Vivian," Remus says as he watches James snatch the flask of firewhiskey from Peter and take a large sip.

As he does, Sirius exclaims, "Oi! Don't drink it all, Prongs – that's the last of it!", as he reaches over to grab it back.

And here we are at the beginning, with Vivian watching as Sirius and James battle for the firewhiskey like two immature idiots. Merlin preserve her.

"We should probably leave, though, don't you think?" Peter murmurs to Remus as the pair of them watch their two friends.

Remus shrugs, "Yeah, probably. Come on. They'll realize we're gone sooner or later."

With that, Peter and Remus stand up and begin walking away, but Remus pauses before they get too far and calls back, "Are you coming, Vivian?" He raises an eyebrow at her, then glances over at his squabbling friends. "Or would you rather stay behind…?"

In the background, Sirius barks, _"I spent good money on that firewhiskey, Prongs!"_

James's very original response is, _"I'm your best mate though!"_

Vivian rolls her eyes and stalks towards Peter and Remus. The former pulls back with a fearful look in his eyes; the latter merely stuffs his hands into his pockets and ambles onward as Vivian falls into step beside them.

"This wasn't what I was expecting," Vivian mutters to herself. A blustering wind tunnels over the grounds and catches into them, so she pulls her robes tighter around her frame.

Remus casts her a knowing look and slyly wonders, "What _were_ you expecting, then?"

She pauses to throw an annoyed look at him and purses her mouth. She's not about to answer that question truthfully, but Remus seems to already know the answer anyhow and just snickers. The shove she promptly bestows upon him doesn't make his snickering stop, so she just huffs and keeps walking.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Vivian grumbles after a few minutes. Now that she's paying more attention, Remus and Peter seem to be cutting across the grounds as if they're intention is to go into the Forbidden Forest. They wouldn't be that stupid, would they? It's called the Forbidden Forest for a reason, after all.

Remus just shrugs though, and responds, "You'll see soon enough."

His cryptic response makes her scowl.

By the time they reach the small hilltop overlooking the Whomping Willow, James and Sirius catch up with them. They're laughing together as they do, as if they hadn't just gotten into an argument over firewhiskey only minutes before. When Vivian sees their grinning countenances, she rolls her eyes yet again.

"So. Here we are, at the start of our quest," Potter dramatically swoons, falling over Remus's shoulder. "Before we carry on, I think a speech is in order."

Sirius prompts snorts, "Only the _leader_ of the Marauders should give speeches, don't you think?"

When James pauses and shoots Sirius an impatient look, Vivian has the distinct impression that this an old argument. She's proven right when James pushes up his glasses, turns to Sirius, and declares, "After your stunt with the fireworks, Padfoot, we all agreed that I make a better leader than you, which naturally means that the speech-giving right belongs to me."

Sirius crosses his arms and counters, "I'll admit that the firework incident didn't go quite as planned, but I hardly think that _one_ mistake should take the leadership away from me."

James smiles pretentiously. "Ah, but in order for the leadership to be taken _away,_ it had to have been yours in the first place. Is that not correct, Moony?"

Off to the side, Remus dryly responds, "That's usually how it works, yes."

Prongs nods happily and raises a finger to declare, "Therefore, I'd like to thank you all for coming tonight on this most Dishonorable adventure. We are gathered here to celebrate the Honorary membership of Padfoot's official bird, who – "

"_Sirius, let me hex him," _Vivian hisses when she tries to pull out her wand, only for Sirius to promptly drag her hand away.

James sends her an annoyed look for interrupting his speech and carries on in a louder voice, " – who, upon sharing this adventure with us and proving her worth as a Dishonorable Marauder, shall unto this day be known to us exclusively as 'Pride' – "

"_I am literally going to kill him,"_ Vivian hisses again, interrupting James mid-sentence once more.

James sighs and grumbles, "Fine, I'll stop the speech there. Short and sweet, right Wormtail? Now, before we go any further, you've got to swear not to divulge our secrets to anyone, Pride."

'Pride' scowls at him heartily.

With a cough, Remus steps up and says less obnoxiously, "You really _can't_ tell anyone about what you're about to witness, Vivian."

James nods quickly and adds, "We're putting our faith in you."

Peter looks a bit doubtful as he watches the proceedings, but Sirius just squeezes Vivian's hand and declares, "She'll keep our secret. I trust her."

It's the _look_ Sirius sends her in that moment that really makes her lose the will to argue. Soft and ardent, almost. Meaningful. She stares at him in surprise as warmth blossoms through her chest. She never thought she'd hear those words coming from Sirius Black's lips and she frankly doesn't know what to say in response. Trust is a formidable thing, after all.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to say anything, because James just nods and pats Peter on the back, and what happens next makes her stare in shock. Well, it's not every day that you see a man transform into a rat, after all.

Vivian's mouth drops open as Peter changes form, lets out a nervous squeak, and darts off through the grass in the direction of the Whomping Willow. It's impossible to follow his fast movements in the dark, but whatever he ends up doing must immobilize the dangerous tree, because only a few seconds later, the creaking branches freeze completely.

Vivian stares with wide eyes, still overwhelmed by the fact that Peter Pettigrew – awkward, brainless _Pettigrew_ – is apparently talented enough to become an _animagus_. She's never heard of a student becoming one before. That sort of magic requires a lot of skill, but it all makes sense, suddenly. Pettigrew's friends call him 'Wormtail', don't they? The nickname must be a result of his animagus form. So, does that mean that Sirius, Remus, and James are _also_ animagi? It would explain their weird nicknames. Her mind is busy churning with the legal implications of this newfound knowledge when Sirius suddenly takes her hand and urgently says, "Come _on,_ Vivi – don't just stand there!"

It's only then that Vivian breaks out of her daze. Still, it takes her a moment to realize that her and Sirius are the only ones remaining on the hilltop. It takes several moments more before she realizes what he had just called her, but she doesn't exactly have a chance to question him about it because Sirius is already dragging her down the hillside, underneath the eerily frozen limbs of the Whomping Willow, and into a hidden passageway that she doesn't notice is there until she's already halfway through it. Then, gasping and panting from the sudden and unexpected sprint, Vivian is a bit too out of breath to say anything but, _"Vivi?_ Really?"

Sirius laughs aloud at her dry voice and crowds into her line of sight, catching her arms and leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead. "What, you don't like it?"

She shoves him back, but only because the others are nearby. "I don't like any of your stupid nicknames for me," she grumbles, and tries her best to scowl.

"Alright, Pride, break it up. We don't need to watch you get it on with Padfoot right now," James says from further down the tunnel that they are in, and Vivian's scowl becomes a shade more pronounced.

Sirius coughs back a laugh as she shoulders past him to indignantly demand, "Would you _stop_ _calling me – "_

"Hurry up, you two!" Remus shouts from further ahead. "The butterbeer isn't going to drink itself!"

Merlin. She thinks she's starting to understand why Remus is a Marauder. With her scowl set firmly in place, Vivian gets shepherded through the tunnel after the others. She sees Peter's figure up ahead, now human once more, and glances over at Sirius to whisper, "How did _Pettigrew_ become an _animagus?"_

Sirius catches her eye with a secretive smile and loops an arm over her shoulder. He hauls her into his side and whispers back, "It's a long story, best had over a mug of butterbeer."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Why can't you just tell me _now?"_ she grouses, a bit annoyed with all the secrecy.

Honestly. Is she that surprised that the Marauders apparently travel via tunnels into Hogsmeade now and again to get alcohol? Well – not really, actually, but it's the principle of it all! He could have warned her before dragging her across the grounds and throwing all of this at her!

Sirius snickers and prods her forward, towards a set of stairs that have been built into the dirt. As she shoots him an annoyed look, he murmurs, "Because we're nearly there."

She's about to impatiently ask him 'nearly _where?'_ when she realizes that the stairs are leading her towards a ceiling. Well, she's not sure she'd necessarily call it a ceiling, actually. It's really more of a floor, if you want to be semantical about it. A trapdoor has already been pulled open. When Vivian climbs the rest of the stairs and clamors through it, her shock returns once more in a jolting wave.

She's in the sitting room of the Shrieking Shack. She sees the dust-laden couch against the far wall, and the side table that lies on its side near the window. It looks so chillingly familiar that she falters for a moment as Sirius follows her through the trapdoor, overcome by memories of the last time she had been inside this building. Sirius sees the expression on her face and reaches over to take her hand.

"Hey," he whispers, giving it a squeeze. "You alright?"

Vivian glances down at their entwined fingers and responds, "…Yeah, of course."

He opens his mouth to say something more, but –

"Come _on,_ you two! Honestly, you'd think we were taking a leisurely stroll through the gardens or something," James says from the doorway that leads into the kitchen.

Vivian breathes out impatiently and Sirius chuckles, nudging her forward. "Let's go before he has an aneurism," he jokes, and follows James, Remus, and Peter through the shack to the back door.

Well. She certainly hadn't been expecting _that_. Then again, tonight is full of the unexpected.

As the group exits the Shrieking Shack, James stretches his arms over his head and sighs, "I always forget how cramped that tunnel is."

Peter laughs and says, "Well you never go through that tunnel as a – erm. Anyway, Hog's Head?" He casts a frightful glance at Vivian, as if he had been about to say something that she ought not be privy to, and clears his throat awkwardly.

Vivian spears him with a weird look as Remus responds, "Well we can't go to The Three Broomsticks after the last time."

Sirius laughs. "Ah, that was a good time, wasn't it Prongs?"

James laughs too. "It was. I always love it when Peter gets sloshed."

"Yeah, that time he mistook a mop for a girl really had me in stitches," Sirius snickers. "What'd you say again, Wormtail?"

James sighs girlishly and says in a high-pitched voice, "I believe it was something to the effect of: 'I'd like to get tangled in your hair!'"

Peter rolls his eyes at his friends and mutters, "Oh shove off. I was plastered."

Vivian feels a touch awkward as she follows the group. Despite the fact that Sirius is still holding her hand, it's difficult not to feel removed from their inside jokes. She hadn't really thought this far ahead, to be honest. When she had spent all that time with Sirius, she hadn't considered the rest of his friends. In hindsight, it had been a bit foolish of her. After all, the Marauders are very close.

With a frown, she suddenly wonders if they know everything that's happened between her and Sirius. Had he told them about her task? Their detentions? Kissing her against the alchemy shelves, even? She sends Sirius a distrustful look.

He doesn't notice at first, because he's too busy teasing Peter. It's only when he happens to turn his head to smile at her that he sees her expression, and pauses mid-sentence.

"…Why're you looking at me like that?" he wonders, raising an eyebrow at her.

Vivian narrows her eyes at him and mutters, "What have you told them about me?"

The random question has his eyebrows rising higher, until he sighs and slows his pace. "You lot go on ahead, we'll catch up in a minute!" he calls to the others, and then turns to face her. James shouts something about how they'll likely need 'more than a minute', but Sirius is too busy taking her other hand and saying, "You've got to learn to trust me more."

At this, Vivian pauses too and shoots a glance at Potter's disappearing back. Sirius sighs and cups her cheek, bringing her attention back to him.

"You told Potter that you kissed me. Back during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Don't deny it," she accuses. "So what _else_ have you told him?"

Sirius raises his eyebrow again and responds, "Okay first of all, _you_ kissed _me_ that time, and second, I only told him that to get him off my back. I've might've _mentioned_ some things to them about the task, but I haven't gone into detail about it – don't get angry, Vivian, I usually tell them _everything."_

She crosses her arms and stares past his shoulder, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed at her reaction. "…But you didn't tell them anything about our detentions?" she asks haltingly.

Sirius snickers. "What, you mean all the times you threw me against the wall and kissed the living daylights out of – "

"Why do I even _try_ to have a serious conversation with you?" Vivian grumbles, and turns away to continue walking. But before she can take even a step, Sirius is catching her shoulders and whirling her back around, shuffling closer as he loops his arms around her waist and hauls her against him.

She's breathless because of the suddenness of it all. Not because he looks like he's wants to kiss her. Obviously.

"What do you think I do, sigh about you in my dormitory while James gushes about us being together?" Sirius asks.

Honestly. He's _never_ done that before. Ever. It'd be so unmanly, you know?

She eyes him. "…I'll bet you have," she mutters after a moment.

Sirius rolls his eyes and shuffles closer. "I do not sigh about girls," he tells her.

She snorts and threads her fingers into his collar. "Please. Not even after I kissed you in the owlery?"

His eyes flash at the memory. He shuffles even closer, feeling incredibly warm in the winter chill, and tilts his mouth towards hers.

"…I'd never tell you if I did," he murmurs lowly, and kisses her.

James had been correct in assuming that they'd need more than a few minutes. As Vivian lets out a breathless sigh and drags him closer, Sirius reckons that he may need _more_ than that. After all, he has a terrible tendency of getting lost in the way Vivian kisses him, especially when she pushes her hands into his hair and clenches down around it.

He gathers her closer, nearly tilting her head back with the force of his kiss, and buries his hands beneath her cloak to clutch at the back of her shirt. She is warm in all this cold and he finds himself falling right into her without even questioning it. After all, what's there to question now? He's crazy about Vivian Blair. He thinks he'd do just about anything for her, even.

"Sirius, they're probably – waiting for us," Vivian breathes against his mouth, but clutches him tighter despite her words.

Vivian Blair, he's beginning to realize, is a bit of a conundrum. A mixture of polar opposites. A mystery carefully tucked out of sight – good and evil and all the shades in between.

It amazes him, how much he loves her.

She's kissing him deeper now, tongue brushing over his bottom lip as fire settles within their veins, and Sirius is hauling her closer and –

"OI! IT'S BEEN MORE THAN A MINUTE!" James's voice hollers from the distance.

Sirius sighs. Vivian scowls.

"I am going to hex him," she mutters, glaring towards his figure.

Sirius merely grumbles, "Yeah, me too," and takes her hand to lead her onward.

* * *

Vivian doesn't hex him, though. Not yet.

By the time her and Sirius catch up to him, James must see the dangerous glint in Vivian's eye because he high-tails it back into the Hog's Head, where the others have already gotten a table in the back corner. Peter is already half-finished with his butterbeer, nervous taking sips every other second. Remus looks like he's only just started his, and keeps nudging Peter to get him to slow down. James slides into the booth and murmurs something to the other two that makes Peter look disgusted and Remus look amused.

As they start towards them, Sirius sighs, "That twat just told them we were snogging."

Vivian glances at him skeptically. "How do you know _that?"_

The look Sirius sends her then is half exasperated, half knowing. "It's the eyes. They're downright demonic sometimes."

James overhears that last bit and looks a bit offended. "I hope you're not talking about _me,_ Padfoot, because I am a bonified _angel."_

Remus snorts into his butterbeer. Peter coughs out a laugh as he swallows a sip. Sirius just rolls his eyes and slides into the booth beside James, pulling Vivian in with him.

"Let me guess – you paid off the bartender not to rat us out to Dumbledore?" Vivian drawls as she grabs the mug of butterbeer that Sirius is reaching for. He sends her a disgruntled look that she ignores.

Remus smiles at her and shrugs, "Nah. We spy for him occasionally, so he gives us a break."

Vivian raises an eyebrow at the word 'spy' and James leans over to explain, "Yeah, he's got an enormous crush on the new proprietor of The Three Broomsticks – what's her name again, Moony?"

"Rosmerta," Moony supplies.

"Right, Rosmerta. So anyway, we keep him updated on her. If a bloke tries chatting her up, he's the first to know."

Vivian's eyebrow twitches. She stares at them all for one long moment before scoffing, "That's the most pathetic thing I have ever heard."

Sirius shrugs, "Yeah, it is pretty pathetic. If a bloke likes a girl, you'd think he'd just go up and talk to her, you know?" Then, noticing all the looks he's receiving from the table at large, he frowns in confusion and asks, "What? What did I say?"

James shakes his head and sighs, "Oh Padfoot. You innocent little puppy." He reaches over to pat his head as Remus and Peter snicker.

Padfoot just glowers at James and bats his hand away. He reaches for the remaining butterbeer and pulls it towards him, sweeping an arm over the back of the booth as he casually takes a sip.

"So now that we're finally all here and not snogging in the woods like a couple of rabid animals," James begins, "it's time to enact the second part of our quest."

Sirius rolls his eyes at the 'rabid animals' bit and is thankful that he had the foresight to sit between James and Vivian, because the latter of the two looks tempted to reach for her wand again.

Across the table, Remus dryly hums, "Right, the _interrogation."_

James laughs, then takes one look at Vivian's expression and backpedals with an innocent, "It's just a _conversation,_ Moony. Merlin, you're so dramatic."

Remus raises an eyebrow but just shakes his head, a little too accustomed to James Potter's antics by now, and just drawls, "With an _Honorary Marauder,_ to figure out what her intentions are towards Padfoot. Isn't that right, Prongs?"

James stammers, "Uh – is that what I said? I don't remember saying it quite like that – "

"My _intentions?"_ Vivian repeats incredulous, leaning around the man in question to stare at James as if she thinks he's gone insane. "What are you, Sirius's _mother_ or something?" Then Vivian smirks at James and scoffs, "Do you _really_ want to know what my intentions are towards him? I could go into specifics, if you'd like."

James pales slightly at the innuendo in her voice. As for Sirius, he coughs into his butterbeer and hoarsely chokes, _"I_ would be interested to know, actually."

She ignores him and just stares at James, who looks quite regretful at having brought up her intentions at this point. "Um…I don't think it's necessary to go into _detail_ or anything," he hedges. He glances over to Moony for help, but Remus just leans back and watches him flounder with an amused smile. Yes, Vivian is definitely starting to understand why Remus is a Marauder.

"But you could tell _me_ all about your intentions – " Sirius tries again, but is once more ignored.

"How about you tell us what your intentions are towards _Lily?"_ Vivian drawls, turning the tables on James before he's quite prepared.

"Huh? Lily?" James asks, "Aren't my intentions obvious? I'm going to marry her, of course." Vivian snorts, which makes James look rather indignant. "What, you don't think it could happen?" he demands, completely forgetting about his original purposes for bringing Vivian all the way here.

Vivian shrugs and rests her chin on her palm before slowly responding, "No, it's definitely possible. She was looking at you all lovestruck after you caught her in class the other day. It was absolutely revolting."

At this, James beams and huddles further over the table to lean around Sirius, who suddenly feels a bit boxed in. In a smug tone, James says, "See, she's just being stubborn as usual. She's hopelessly in love with me. Maybe I should stop ignoring her – what do you say, Padfoot?"

Vivian raises an eyebrow dryly as Sirius runs a hand over his chin. He's about to give Prongs his masterful advice concerning members of the female species, strange as they are, when Vivian cuts in with an unimpressed, "I really can't believe you're taking his advice, Potter. This is someone who literally spent his entire life pretending to hate the girl he's always secretly fancied. Just look at his track record. It took him over a decade to convince me that he's not a complete prat – if you include all the years when we were kids and he'd run around without his trousers."

The whole table goes silent, for varying reasons.

Peter's face is going red with the effort it takes to not burst out into laughter. After all, it's not every day that Sirius Black gets so casually insulted by a girl he fancies. This is something that has never happened before in the history of their Maraudership, as the girls he usually hangs around with are too busy crooning over him to bother insulting him.

Remus's mouth is dropping open at the vivid imagery that their resident Slytherin has supplied for them. He is, of course, also in the same boat as Peter, and finds it incredibly amusing at the offhanded insults flying from Vivian's lips. It's almost as if she doesn't even realize that she's insulting him at all – though, upon closer inspection, the way her eyes are absolutely glinting makes it clear that she's very much aware of it, thank you, and is enjoying every second.

James is staring at Vivian in surprise, partly because her insults are also somewhat amazing to him and also because he's trying to imagine a young Sirius, who has always been a rebel at heart, flat-out refusing to wear his trousers even with company around.

It's Sirius, though, whose reaction is naturally the best. His mouth hangs open, his face gets a little flustered, and he turns to gape at Vivian with an exclaimed, "You _remember_ that? We were _seven!"_

His flustered response is the last straw, really.

"Oh Merlin!" James crows, pressing his head to the table as he collapses into laughter. Remus and Peter also dissolve into laughter, pushing away their butterbeers to avoid spilling them all over the table as they watch Sirius's face become a touch redder.

As for Vivian, she smirks evilly and continues, "He'd always try to get out of his pants, too, but thankfully his mum – "

A hand slaps itself over Vivian's mouth before she can continue, and Sirius hisses, "Really? How do you remember this?!"

She just bats his hand off of her and smirks, "Consider it payback for all the times you called me a bitch, _Padfoot_. You didn't really think that I'd let you off easy, did you? I'm a _Slytherin."_

As he gapes at her, James incoherently cackles, "His _pants!_ Merlin!"

Across the way, Remus grins, "You know, I'm glad you brought Vivian along tonight, Padfoot. I feel like this has been a great bonding experience for us."

Sirius shoots him a glower and looks like he wants to say something, but Peter cuts in with a laughing, "I can't believe you ran around without your trousers, Padfoot!"

James snickers, "So what _other_ embarrassing stories do you have, Pride? Let's hear 'em."

Vivian's smug smile lessens at the usage of her new nickname, which makes Sirius smirk now as the tables are turned.

"Okay _what_ is the deal with the nickname?" Vivian demands. "And if you say it's because I'm conceited or something, I _will_ hex you."

James raises an eyebrow, but it's Remus who responds. He catches Vivian's eye and shrugs, "Your patronus is a lion, yeah? Lions have prides."

She stares at him. That…wasn't what she was expecting.

At her side, Sirius smiles and loops at arm around her shoulders to pull her closer against him. He sounds rather pleased when he tells her, "It was a joint effort, because _we're_ your new pride, now."

Right. Not what she was expecting at all. Her chest fills with warmth. Shucked against Sirius's side, taking part in the Marauders' antics – even being considered one of them, somehow – it isn't something she would ever have expected in a million years. In fact, a few months ago, she would have sneered at the thought. And yet, now…well, it's strange, but she feels incredibly happy to be here, despite her earlier reservations. She still thinks Potter is an idiot, of course, but he isn't all _that_ bad. Well, sort of.

"So can we just talk about Lily for a moment?" he says once he regains control of his laughter. He sees the way Sirius sighs in relief and adds, "Don't get too comfortable, Padfoot – we're _definitely_ going to talk about you rejecting your trousers soon. It explains a lot about your character, actually."

Sirius glowers at him as the others start snickering again.

* * *

Tonight really is full of surprises, which makes Vivian feels immensely warm. This could be due to the fact that the Marauders had managed to bribe their proprietor confidante to serve them firewhiskey after their first round of butterbeers, or it could be because Sirius has his arm around her waist as they sit together in the booth and hasn't let her go even once. Regardless, Vivian is feeling way more comfortable around the Marauders than she ever thought she would.

She's learned quite a lot about them already. For example, Remus's father works in the department for Magical Creatures. The reason they're always getting away with pranks is because they know just about every hidden passageway that Hogwarts has to offer. Peter is shite at Wizarding Chess. It's trivial knowledge, but it makes Vivian feel like she's a part of their world, which is a still a bit strange to think about, but she's not questioning it as much as she had in the beginning.

She also learns that when James drinks firewhiskey, he becomes even more pathetic than usual.

"Maybe if I pay someone to trip her again, I can replicate my incredible catch," he's saying.

Right. So when she says 'pathetic', she means 'pathetically in love with Lily Evans'. Of course, he's like this anyway, but firewhiskey seems to intensify it.

"She'll swoon into my arms and agree to go out on a date with me," he girlishly sighs.

Remus, still the voice of reason despite drinking just as much as the rest of them, logically points out, "If you pay someone to trip her, she'll murder you."

James frowns sadly and bemoans, "You're probably right. Merlin, isn't she so _attractive_ when she's trying to murder me, though?"

Vivian rolls her eyes and snorts, "You're a fucking psychopath, Potter. If you want Evans to notice you, stop being such an idiot. There's literally nothing else to it."

At this, James blinks over at her and, sounding immensely confused, says, "I thought girls liked it when blokes acted like idiots."

She sends him a look that makes it obvious how unimpressed she is with this, and glances over at Sirius to drawl, "Did you tell him that?"

Sirius just snickers and breezily responds, "That was all him this time, I'm afraid."

Vivian rolls her eyes again. "Look, Potter, here's what you need to do: stop sending her flowers every morning like a creep, stop calling her 'Lilyflower', and stop being such a smug arsehole all the time."

James drops his mouth and splutters, "But that's my MO! It's what I do! It makes me unique!"

"It makes you look like a moron," is her only response. Then she shrugs, "If you ask me, Evans could do way better."

James glowers at her and pushes up his glasses, muttering, "No one asked you though," as he stares mournfully at the table.

Sirius laughs. "This is what you get for making that stupid deal, Prongs. Consider it payback, yeah?"

As Peter snorts in agreement, Vivian raises an eyebrow and wonders, "What deal?"

The question has Remus grinning as he shoots a smirk at James, who seems to be silently trying to tell him not to talk. Alas, Remus doesn't listen, and merely catches Vivian's eye as he explains, "James and Lily made a deal to get you and Padfoot together by the end of your month of detentions."

James sighs as this information is revealed, but Vivian's reaction isn't what he's anticipating. Instead of drawing her wand to hex him or getting annoyed that he made a deal about her behind her back, she just raises an eyebrow and drawls, "Oh? What were the stakes, then?"

None of the Marauders were expecting this reaction, it seems. Then again, they don't usually make a habit of hanging around Slytherins, who happen to love making bets and setting high, seemingly unreachable goals for them. They still have a lot to learn about Vivian Blair, it seems.

"…Er. Well, Lily wanted me to take on some of her work load if we lost, and I agreed to never talk to her again…if we lost." James pulls a confused face as he repeats the agreement, as if he's only now realizing that he literally gets nothing from it either way.

Vivian's expression is complete and utter incredulity as she demands, "Are you really _that much_ of an idiot? You should have made her agree to go out with you if you won."

James's expression grows a touch more conflicted. "…Yeah. That's true."

Vivian shakes her head at him. "Well this is probably just as well." At the confused look he sends her, she shrugs, "At least Evans doesn't have to waste her time with you now."

He scowls and takes another shot of firewhiskey. Vivian snickers.

Sirius does too. "She does have a point, Prongs. Your stakes were pretty shortsighted."

James scowls at the both of them now and bemoans, "Oh Merlin, are you two going to start ganging up on me now?"

Sirius smirks, glances down at Vivian, and snickers again. Vivian smirks too. It's a bit creepy how well they match.

"We've already concluded that Lily was giving you starstruck eyes the other day, so it's just a matter of time before she caves and agrees to give you a chance," Remus tells James, no doubt trying to make him feel better.

Peter nods and adds, "Yeah, don't lose hope, Prongs." He seems to have turned his hero-worshipping endeavors to James, perhaps because the thought of Sirius being with Vivian is still making him slightly disgusted even now. He's starting to get used to it, but it's still a bit unnerving.

"Oh, so I came up with a great prank the other day," Sirius suddenly declares, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. James reaches for the bottle of firewhiskey that they're all sharing and pours them all another shot as Remus and Peter look up.

"Let's hear it, then," James says.

Sirius reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. As he unfolds it, he says, "Right, so imagine this: we head down to the kitchens, ask the house-elves to cook us up some tuna, load it with Pepperup Potion, and leave it outside Filch's office as a gift for Mrs. Norris."

James snorts out a laugh and leans forward to take a look at the drawings that Sirius had scribbled down. His artistic talents are truly horrendous, which Vivian soon discovers as she, too, leans forward to take a look. Mrs. Norris is depicted as an oval with four stick-legs jutting out of the bottom, a lightning bolt for a tail, and a face with two X's to represent her eyes. In front of her is a plate of what is presumably tuna, though it looks more like a mysterious blob. The image has been enchanted to show steam shooting out of Mrs. Norris's mouth and ears. Beside her is a scrawled note that says, 'Mrs. Norris', just to be thorough.

It's that note that draws Vivian's attention. Her eyes drift over the scrawl of his handwriting, then to the tuna, which is also labeled with a flourished, 'Tuna a la Pepperup = bane of Mrs. Norris's existence'. She stares at the writing for a long moment as Sirius irons out the details of the prank to the others, trying to figure out why it looks so familiar to her. Well, it's not as if Sirius hasn't sent her notes during class before. Maybe she's just overthinking it.

But there are other labels scrawled onto the page, and when her eyes alight over an image of Pepperup Potion, which is labeled, 'Vial of Pepperup, kindly supplied by Poppy', she pauses. The slashes of that 'V' looks oddly recognizable, as if she's seen it many times before. Her expression turns a shade contemplative and she wracks her brain for answers. Something just doesn't feel right. It's hard to explain – a gut instinct, perhaps, that makes her feel strangely wary all of the sudden. Only she can't quite pinpoint what it is. Maybe she's had one too many shots of firewhiskey to think clearly, because her thoughts seem to swirl together.

"What do you think, Pride?" James drawls, his voice a bit teasing as he uses her new nickname.

She sighs upon hearing it but is quick to respond, "It's completely cruel. You should definitely do it."

Well, Mrs. Norris probably deserves it, after all. That cat is pure evil.

Sirius snickers, "I wonder how many detentions Filch'll give us for this."

James doesn't look very concerned at the thought of wracking up detentions – until of course he remembers that he's Head Boy. He isn't stricken by any sense of responsibility towards his position, of course, but rather…well. "If I want Lily to fall for me, I probably shouldn't get involved," he nods, and tries to look authoritative as he pushes his glasses up and then rests his hands together on the tabletop.

Remus shrugs, "Well I'll help you out, Padfoot. That cat has been the bane of my existence for years now."

Vivian belatedly wonders why Mrs. Norris is only the bane of _his_ existence – his wording seems strange is all – but before she can ask, the proprietor of the Hog's Head steps over to their table and announces, "Alright boys, time to leave. It's getting late and I'll be closing soon."

Is it already closing time? That must mean it's after midnight. Have they really spent hours in this little pub, sitting around this table? She can scarcely believe it.

"Right. Let's get going, then," James says. "I suppose we should probably get some sleep. We've got class tomorrow."

Peter snorts as they all stand up. "You really _are_ trying to be responsible, Prongs."

James shoves him playfully, then loops an arm over his shoulders and sighs, "I sacrifice so much for Lily, honestly. I hope she appreciates it someday."

They head back into the winter night, but the firewhiskey keeps them warm as they begin to amble their way back to the Shrieking Shack, chattering together as they go. Sirius entwines his fingers with Vivian and pulls her back a ways, so that they're a few steps behind the others. He looks down at her and grins, "So? Aren't you happy I dragged you out here?"

Vivian merely scoffs, "I don't know if I'd go _that_ far."

Her denial makes him laugh. "Oh come on. You _like_ us. Don't pretend otherwise."

She doesn't grace that with a response, because then she'd have to admit that he's right. She does sort of like them. In a way. Well, at least they aren't quite as annoying as they were before. She doesn't feel the need to hex them all, in any case. Sirius laughs again and drags her into his side. She also decides not to admit that she very much likes being tucked against him like this.

"So you never explained the whole animagus thing to me," Vivian says as they make their way up the path towards the shack, which rises up in the distance on its solitary hilltop. The crescent moon shines down from above, just barely illuminating the ground.

Sirius shrugs against her and murmurs, "And I only will if you swear not to tell anyone."

At this, Vivian elbows him and repeats the words he had used earlier that evening. "You've got to learn to trust me more." Then she muses, "If Pettigrew is a rat and he's called 'Wormtail', then why're you called 'Padfoot'?"

Sirius just smiles secretively and lets go of her hand. She's about to demand that he stop being so annoying secretive, but when she turns her head to look at him, Sirius is no longer there. Her eyebrows jerk up in surprise when something nuzzles against her leg, and with a startled jump, Vivian looks down to see a mangy black dog blinking up at her with an innocent look on his face – the sort of expression a dog has when they're watching you eat and wondering if you're going to throw them some scraps.

Vivian stares. Sirius blinks up at her as his tongue lolls out of the side of his canine mouth.

"Padfoot. Right. Why am I not surprised that you're a mangy dog? It explains so much," she mutters, and then keeps walking, leaving him behind with an exasperated expression.

Padfoot lets out an indignant bark and trots after her, whining a little as he nudges her leg again, pressing the side of his face against her thigh. The action makes Vivian jump backwards for the second time as she snaps, "Just because you're an animal doesn't mean you get to feel me up, Black."

Before this moment, she hadn't known that a dog's face could look so offended, but apparently it can. Sirius whines again and shuffles closer to her, only for Vivian to push him back with a disgusted, "I hate dogs. They smell bad and are infested with fleas."

The offended look only seems to grow. Sirius leans back to sit on his hindlegs and whines up at Vivian, who stares back down at him with crossed arms as she watches him transform back into a human. Now that she's seeing the transformation properly this time, a jolt of amazement shudders through her. She _hadn't_ been expecting this. Sirius Black, an animagus as well? Merlin.

"You can't _hate_ dogs. And I don't smell bad!" is the first thing that leaves Sirius's mouth when he transforms back.

Vivian eyes him distrustfully. "But I bet you're infested with fleas, aren't you."

At this, he pauses to shoot an annoyed look at her.

"You're never getting into bed with me, if you were wondering," she breezily informs him, and keeps walking.

He quickly follows her and reaches out to grab her arm, pulling her to a stop and grinning, "Oh, so you've thought about being in bed together, have you?" He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

She rolls her eyes at him. "I think you just missed the point I made."

He just grins and shuffles closer. "I'm sure I'll be able to change your mind about letting me into your bed."

"You're a fleabag, so I doubt it."

"Your entire argument is groundless on the account that I'm usually a human and therefore don't have fleas."

"That doesn't matter. Now when I look at you, all I'll see is a mangy, dirty dog – "

"I clean myself regularly, I'll have you know."

"There are so many insults I could use right now, it's hard to pick just one," she muses.

Sirius pushes her playfully and takes her hand once more, dragging her forward to catch up with the others, who are just entering the Shrieking Shack. As they start walking again, he laughs, "I think you're more impressed than you're letting on. You just don't want to admit that you think I'm amazing."

They banter back and forth all the way back, much to the amusement of the others, who keep throwing them glances over their shoulders. They don't stop until they reach Hogwarts once more, and their playful insults have to be put on hold lest they are caught out of bounds.

"Goodnight, Pride," James drawls as the Marauders part ways in the entrance hall, heading up to Gryffindor tower. Well, all except one.

"I'll walk you back," Sirius murmurs. He loops his arm around Vivian's shoulders as she scowls at James, still not knowing how she feels about the nickname. As Sirius pulls her down the blackened corridor that leads to the lower bowels of the dungeons, he draws his wand and murmurs, "Lumos." The corridor is instantly lit up with bright light and Vivian is reminded of earlier that same evening, when she had been patrolling the halls before Sirius had dragged her outside. She releases a laugh as she thinks about it, which naturally has Sirius turning his head to look at her curiously.

"What is it?" he wonders, quirking a brow. The bright wandlight makes his eyes shine into hers.

Vivian shrugs and snickers, "Nothing. It's just – when you first mentioned going to the greenhouses, I thought we were going there to snog."

At this, he slows his pace. The corner of his mouth swings up just so as he looks at her. "That explains why you didn't argue that much."

She rolls her eyes and halfheartedly responds, "I argued plenty. Shut up."

He grins boyishly, turns his eyes to the corridor ahead of them, and shrugs, "Seducing me in the library, snogging behind greenhouses… I had no idea you were _that_ sort of bird. Not that I mind or anything."

It's Vivian's turn to quirk a brow as she grumbles, "I didn't _seduce_ you in the library. How many times do I – "

"You may not have been trying to, but you were definitely succeeding," he cuts in, and the look in his eyes – well.

It's fire and brimstone again, and Vivian doesn't even realize that she's stopped walking until he's turning towards her and backing her up against the wall, his eyes flashing tempestuously. The light emitting from his wand forms a brief radius around them, making it seem as if they are the only people who exist. It feels intimate in a way she can't explain. They stand together in a pool of light that vanishes just beyond their peripheries, dissolving into the blackness beyond.

"…If I _do_ try to seduce you, it won't be anything like that," she tells him then, feeling strangely confident. Maybe it's the firewhiskey that's still thudding through her veins, transforming her into a creature of gilded silver; unbreakable and strong.

Sirius lets out a breath and leans over her, settling his forearms against the wall beside her head and studying the angles of her face. Sharp but soft, delicate but fierce. He whispers, "What will it be like, then?"

He's dying to know.

However, just as Vivian is tilting her face towards his and opening her mouth to respond, their small two-person world is joined by another.

If Vivian Blair is silver, then Regulus Black is iron. His voice certainly sounds like it when he suddenly says, _"Vivian. Sometimes you are a darkened sky; a cloudy night; a tempered sigh_…that sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

With a surprised jolt, Vivian and Sirius jerk apart. Neither of them had heard Regulus approach. They were too caught up in the other; too distracted to take notice of anyone else. They're so taken aback that they both turn to stare at Regulus in quiet shock, hardly even hearing his words at all. Sirius raises his wand to bring his brother into the fold of its light. Regulus is leaning against the wall nearby, holding a piece of parchment and raising an eyebrow at their reactions. His dark hair is sweeping just slightly into his eyes as he stares at them. His gaze is iron too; like lead, it drags them down.

It's only when Vivian sees the piece of parchment that Regulus is holding that his words register in her mind. She furrows her brow and demands, "Did you go through my things or something? How do you have that?"

Regulus glances at her, then turns his eyes to Sirius and drawls, "She kept them all, did you know? They're in a little pile in her trunk."

Sirius stiffens and glares at his brother, gritting his teeth angrily. His wand shakes in his hand as he hisses, "Shut up, Regulus."

Regulus doesn't shut up, though. Instead he sighs and turns his attention back to the poem as he recites, _"A winter cardinal singing high upon a distant tree. _That was a nice touch. The cardinal, I mean. Very poetic." The dark smile he sends Sirius in that moment has Vivian furrowing her brow even deeper.

She glances over at Sirius, who had, only moments before, been leaning into her with soft, ardent eyes. Who has shown her so many sides of himself tonight – sides she hadn't known existed, before. Sirius who, with only a single look and a crooked smile, has the startling capacity to make her feel like the most important person in the room. She stares at him in confusion now, and wonders why he looks as if he wants to tear his brother apart. Then she turns her eyes back to Regulus – Regulus, who has within him the potential for so much _more_ – and sees that he is wearing an expression of ruthless triumph.

Her eyebrows pull down now for a different reason, because suddenly she feels far more sober than she had moments before. Suddenly, she thinks she knows why Sirius's handwriting had looked so familiar to her back in the Hog's Head. Suddenly she feels like a complete idiot for not realizing it sooner.

"It's really romantic, Sirius, don't get me wrong. Vivian ate it up," Regulus drawls, but this time he turns his eyes to Vivian as he says it, like he's quietly judging her.

Vivian sweeps forward, walking to Regulus and grabbing the poem out of his hands. He doesn't put up a fight. He just watches as her eyes skim over the handwriting, focusing on –

The two downward slashes of the 'V' in her name, which looks startlingly identical to the one on the parchment earlier that night. She stares at it, goes deathly silent, and holds the poem so tightly that it begins to wrinkle beneath her touch.

Behind her, Sirius breathes out, "Vivian – "

But when she whirls around to face him, her expression firmly cuts off whatever flimsy explanation he'd been about to give her. He falls silent and watches her transform into Vivian Blair, the same Slytherin who looked down on him for being a blood traitor. The same Slytherin who loathed him with everything she had. The same Slytherin who can't stand to even look at him, because he disgusts her. Every trace of the person she'd been only moments before is shuddered away, pressed back beneath as mask of haughty scorn. And then she laughs, and it's so cold that it makes Sirius's heart drop in his chest as if it has been filled with weights.

"I don't know why I'm so surprised," she admits. _"Everything_ is a prank to you."

Sirius swallows thickly and steps forward, opening his mouth to explain, but she just curls her lip into a sneer and hisses, "This whole time you've just been _messing_ with me, haven't you?"

"_No!"_ he quickly says. "Vivian, let me – "

"You don't need to explain anything, Black," she cuts in, her eyes dark and thunderous. "I have to applaud you for being creative with your pranks. You really had me fooled."

Her cold voice makes his panic reach new heights. He shakes his head and tries to say, "I – it started as a prank but it – I swear, Vivian, I meant every word – "

He watches her crumple the poem into a ball and throw it at him, and cringes at the mask she's wearing; pureblood supremacy at its finest. Every angle of her face that had once been soft and delicate is now a maelstrom of coldness, as if her features have been painted over with ice. He's seen that look too many times in the past to not understand it for what it is: an effort to rein back every weak emotion that lingers just below the surface, hurt and in pain – because of _him_.

Merlin. Because of him.

"I meant what I said. What I've _been_ saying," he tells her, "I really do lo – "

"Why don't you run along to your common room?" Regulus drawls, still leaning against the wall as he casually delivers destruction to their doorstep. He catches Sirius's eye and smirks, "I'm sure you'll want to have a good laugh about this with your little friends."

It's the look that's blazing across Regulus's face, arrogant and triumphant, that has anger rising to the surface of Sirius's voice when he growls, _"You fucking snake. _You just had to ruin things for me like you always do – "

Regulus snorts. _"You're_ the one who pretended to care about Vivian like the bastard you are. I'm just looking out for her, like I always do." Then, glancing at Vivian, he murmurs, "This is why Slytherins should stick together, Blair. Never trust a Gryffindor."

Sirius grits his teeth and snarls, _"You conniving little prick!"_, but Regulus is already scoffing as he throws an arm around Vivian's shoulders and begins to pull her down the corridor towards the Slytherin common rooms, where she belongs. She doesn't look back at Sirius even once as she allows Regulus to pull her away.

Swallowing tightly, Sirius tries to follow – tries to make her understand, one more time – but it's far too late for that.

"Vivian, _wait,"_ he begs, but she's already gone, vanishing into the darkened shadows of the dungeons and disappearing from sight. The knot of despair that's been forming in the pit of his stomach tightens into a heartbreak of his own doing, and he can only blame himself for it.

As Regulus had said, you can't trust Gryffindors. She had been a fool to go to Dumbledore. A fool to think that there was another way. Now she sees things clearly – there _is_ no other way, not if she wants to survive past graduation.

"Where are you going?" Regulus demands when Vivian throws his arm off and turns down a corridor that will take her away from the common room. She doesn't respond to him. She doesn't even turn to look at him as she stalks away, hands fisted at her sides. She has books to retrieve from an empty classroom that she hasn't stepped foot in for days. Books that she needs to finish a spell that she's been tasked to create – a spell that she's suddenly feeling very driven to complete.


	53. Alis volat propriis

**Chapter Fifty Three | Alis volat propriis**

**[She flies by her own wings]**

James Potter is a bastion of optimism. He likes to think that his optimism is his third best characteristic. (Coming directly after his magnificent good looks and awe-inspiring skills on the Quidditch pitch.) Well, maybe his fourth best. (He is superbly talented with dueling.) Actually, perhaps it's his fifth best. (One cannot deny that he is a most illustrious and dishonorable prankster.) Well in any case, James Potter is quite optimistic and overall extraordinary.

Anyway, concerning optimism, he fully expects that Pride will come to her senses soon enough. After all, one does not simply make it onto the distinguished list of Honorary Maraudership without possessing several key character traits. The first being, of course, that they must have some appreciation for mischief. The second being that all Official Marauders must agree to accept them into their role (as they have a very democratic system of leadership and even one veto will ruin the potential H.M.'s chances). The third being that any potential Honorary Marauders must either 1) be a fellow Gryffindor, or 2) enjoy the company of a Gryffindor. This third trait is imperative, really, because in James Potter's humble opinion, Gryffindors are the very best, which is reason enough.

Pride has thus far proven herself capable of living up to all three of these fundamental doctrines. She is appreciative of mischief (though her definition thereof is sometimes a bit scary), she has been accepted by all Official Marauders (though Wormtail had been quite wary, he still voted 'yes'), and she enjoys the company of a Gryffindor (though she would surely deny this). Yes, overall, James Potter is quite sure that with enough time, Pride will come to her senses and realize that being inducted as an Honorary Marauder is quite serious, and definitely shouldn't be brushed off or ignored.

Right. James is very optimistic. Which is why, during breakfast the morning after The Event, as his Marauding fellows have taken to calling it (Sirius grimaces whenever they say 'the night Vivian found out you started sending her love poems as a prank'), James is quite pleased. See, he is not only a bastion of optimism, but he also knows how to handle a bird – come to think of it, perhaps his optimism should be his sixth best trait – and he knows that Vivian just needs time to process that her secret admirer and Sirius Black are one in the same. It's actually all very romantic when it boils down to it, which he's sure she'll come to realize after a while. Sure, in the few brief run-ins they've had, she's taken to giving Padfoot the cold shoulder and has begun referring to him as 'the blood traitor' again, but it won't last forever. He's quite sure.

"Why're _you_ so happy today?" Sirius mutters as James fills his plate with breakfast. He's dressed very smartly today, having actually tied his tie properly and attempted to comb down his hair. He's even whistling a Celestina Warbeck song under his breath as he reaches for some toast and starts spreading jam onto it.

James shrugs and breezily responds, "I'm happy that Vivian found out is all. It'll make everything so much easier."

Sirius's expression grows a touch stormier. Remus and Peter take one look at it and clamp their mouths shut, but James doesn't notice because he's too busy humming, 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' beneath his breath.

"You're _glad_ that Vivian found out?" Sirius demands, narrowing his eyes.

James nods his agreement and, around a bite of toast, hums, _"Oh come and stir my cauldron," _then seems to forget the next line and skips to, _"I'll boil you up some hot strong love hmm mm – "_

"So what you're saying is that you're happy I'm miserable," Sirius grits out.

James rolls his eyes. "Oh come off it. Course I'm not happy about that. You _did_ kind of ask for this though, to be fair."

"_How_ did I ask for this? I _didn't_ ask for this. I didn't want _this_ to happen – "

"You had plenty of chances to use this situation to your benefit is all I'm saying," James says around a mouthful of toast. "I mean, think about it. You could've recited a poem to her and then let her know that you were the one writing them. I'll bet she would've swooned into your arms and asked you to marry her right then and there. That's something birds do these days and I'm all for it," James nods.

He's about to say something about he wishes Lily would ask _him_ to marry her, since it would make his life so much easier, when a voice suddenly drawls, "I don't swoon, Potter," and all four Marauders stiffen in surprise.

Peter takes one look at Vivian Blair and practically nosedives into his plate, ducking over so quickly that he looks like he's trying to hide between the layers of pancakes. Remus, who is taking a drink of pumpkin juice, stops mid-sip and stares at Vivian over the rim of his goblet, studying the expressionless way she's staring down her nose at them. James begins coughing, as he had only just shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth and her sudden presence has gotten it lodged in his throat a bit. Sirius – well, he instantly pales, whirls around to face her, and swallows tightly at the cold way she turns to stare at him.

"Vivian – " he begins, but doesn't get to say more.

"Don't talk to me, blood traitor," she breezily says. "I've only come over here to give you this."

Sirius snaps his mouth shut at the words 'blood traitor', but it isn't because he's angry. That is something she used to call him before they had properly gotten to know each other. Before their arguments had become snogging sessions. Before he told her he loved her. To hear her call him that now, after everything they've been through thus far, makes his stomach knot up in a way it never has before.

She leans around him to set a small box onto the table near his plate, stares at him coldly one more time, and then says in a low voice, "I'll never forgive you for this, blood traitor," before she sneers at him and turns to march back to the Slytherin table.

Sirius watches her go, even paler now. Remus finally puts his goblet down and Peter lifts his head from his plate. James's optimism lowers a notch.

"…Right. Um. What is it, then?" James wonders, cringing a bit when he sees Sirius's face. Merlin, he's never seen him look so…downtrodden before.

Sirius turns back around and stares gloomily at the box. He shrugs, "I don't think I want to know. It might rip my heart out."

"Don't be dramatic, Padfoot," James tries to laugh, then stops when he sees the way Sirius looks at him with those dejected eyes. Gathering his optimism, James sets his shoulders back and nods, "Okay. I'll look first, then tell you what it is."

Sirius doesn't respond; only pushes his elbows onto the table and leans over as if he's in pain. It's quite concerning, really, because none of them have ever seen him like this before. Sirius Black isn't the sort to let a bird get to him, after all.

James shoots a glance at Remus and Peter, both of whom remain silent, before he reaches over to open the box. Peter, who is sitting directly beside him, leans over to see what's inside. He takes one look at its contents before promptly grimacing and leaning back. A pitying glance is cast at Sirius, who looks suddenly very anxious. Remus does too, for that matter.

"…What is it?" Sirius croaks.

James flaps his mouth for a moment and then slams the box shut with a strained laugh. "Nothing, Padfoot. It's not important. I think I should just hold onto it – "

"Just show me," Sirius mutters. Best to rip the bandage off quickly. Or not. When James tentatively opens the box and pushes it across the table so that Sirius can see inside, his pale countenance turns as white as a ghost.

"Oh," he hoarsely mumbles, and then fall completely silent.

Remus purses his lips and puts a hand on Sirius's shoulder, but Sirius only chokes, "She hates me," before getting up from the table and gloomily making his way out of the Great Hall.

For there within the box are ashes; rejected poems burnt to their bones.

* * *

Sirius Black is not optimistic. His optimism doesn't even make it onto his list of five best characteristics. In fact, in this moment in time, he reckons he doesn't have any good characteristics at all. Vivian doesn't seem to think he does, anyway.

"Vivian," he calls once their first class of the day wraps up. After spending some time brooding in his dorm room after breakfast, he had come to the conclusion that a proper explanation is in order. After all, he hasn't actually had a chance to talk to her yet. Last night, she'd left before he could, and based on how she had acted in the Great Hall only a few hours ago, he figures that she's going to be stubborn about listening to him.

He's right. The moment she hears her name, Vivian's shoulders visibly stiffen and she picks up her pace. She's stepping back into the hallway before he even has a chance to say another word. For example: 'I'm sorry' or 'I'm an arse' comes to mind.

Shouldering his way out of the classroom, Sirius ignores the looks he's receiving from his fellow students and hurries to follow her. He's barely able to fall into step at her side before Vivian is growling, "What the fuck do you want, blood traitor?"

Then, swallowing tightly, Sirius hoarsely tries, "I just want to explain it to you – "

"Oh, you mean the fact that you've spent the entire year sending me love poems as a prank?" she cuts in coldly, staring straight ahead.

Sirius flounders, "That's what I'm trying to – it started off as a prank but it – "

"It turned into something more," she finishes for him, very sarcastically.

"You don't believe me?" he asks, a bit hurt.

"No, I believe you," is her response.

He feels the barest hint of relief – just enough to make him relax just so – when Vivian stops walking, turns to face him, and coldly says, "I believe that you're a lying piece of shite who had a good laugh at my expense. I also think that you stupidly started to believe your own lie and fancied yourself to be in love with me, because you're a fucking idiot."

She shrugs at him and then turns back around to keep walking. Sirius gapes at her back for several long seconds before hurrying to follow.

"Yes – I mean, that _is_ what happened – sort of, I mean, the way you said it was a bit – "

"Lucius! _There_ you are," Vivian cuts in, catching sight of her fellow Slytherin at the end of the corridor. She glances over at Sirius and sneers, "Go away, Black. I have things to do."

She begins to walk away, but Sirius, panicking now, reaches forward to take her arm and quickly says, "Please Vivian. I'm sorry. It was stupid of me – but did you really not feel anything from those poems? Because I spilled my heart into them, honest – "

Vivian's eyes flash into his, but there is no warmth in them. The sight of cold, hard fury has Sirius's words fading into silence, so completely that even his breath feels short and shallow. Panic grips him solidly and he can't seem to remember what else he was going to say.

Her voice is practically a hiss when she murmurs, "I'm not angry about the poems, Sirius. I'm angry because you lied about them for months, even after you told me that you – " and here she cuts herself off, almost as if she can't bring herself to say the rest.

Sirius can, though, and does. In a quietly pleading voice, he whispers, "Love you."

Her mouth forms a hard line.

"You should have told me," she mutters, and pulls her arm out of his grasp before marching away.

Sirius stares forlornly after her and, this time, doesn't try to follow.

* * *

A wise man once said that there are two potential outcomes which will most likely occur when Vivian Blair discovers the truth about those love poems. That wise man was Remus Lupin, but he hadn't been entirely right in the end, concerning those outcomes. See, rather than Vivian getting so angry that she hexes Sirius into the hospital wing, or becoming so heartbroken that Sirius shrivels up with guilt, Vivian's reaction to the newfound knowledge of Sirius Black's ongoing prank is to pretend that he doesn't exist at all.

After an entire day of trying to get her to talk to him in various ways (notes sent during classes, attempting to speak to her after classes, catching her before she enters the Great Hall), Vivian's latest tactic has been made astoundingly clear. In her mind, she had said her piece in the corridor that morning, and all other attempts to administer an explanation have been unsuccessful. It hasn't been for lack of trying, though. Sirius has been going crazy all day, spiraling lower and lower into a dejected panic whenever his attempts have been ignored. He's lost track of all the times he tried to talk to her, only to have Vivian tell him to piss off and storm away.

"I told you not to do it," Remus murmurs as Sirius gloomily stares into the fire in the Gryffindor common room. He seems to be completely unaware of the bustle of activity that always presides over the space after dinner is finished. He just sits on the couch and stares unseeingly into the fire with the same expression he's worn all day: heart-stricken desolation.

Beside him, James silently throws Remus a warning look and says, "I saw some of those poems, Padfoot. Sure, they started out as a prank, but Vivian must know that they ended up becoming way more than that."

Sirius doesn't respond. Besides his attempts to talk to Vivian, he hasn't said more than a handful of words all day.

"She's just angry right now. Once the anger fades away, she'll realize that you were being genuine," James tells him, though it doesn't seem to do much good. Sirius doesn't even seem to hear him.

Remus sighs again and mutters, "I don't know, James. You saw how she was today. She wouldn't even look at him."

Now _this_ draws forth a reaction from their silent friend. Sirius grimaces and sinks lower into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as the memories of Vivian ignoring him all day, at every turn, resurface.

James shoots Remus another warning look and adamantly fires back, "She's just angry, that's all. Like I said, once the anger wears off – "

"It won't wear off," Sirius bemoans, and the sound of his voice is so shocking that the other Marauders turn to stare at him in vague surprise. Remus furrows his brow pityingly, James exhales mournfully, and Peter bites his lip as he sits on Sirius's other side, not sure what to say as his friend closes his eyes and groans, _"She hates me."_

Silence falls after that. Peter isn't the only one who doesn't know what to say.

After several minutes, James sighs, "She doesn't hate you, Sirius. She's just angry. She'll come around." Sirius obviously doesn't believe him, so James bolsters his optimism a bit and confidently says, "I've been in this situation _plenty_ of times. Lily decides she hates me _at least_ once a week, but does it make me give up? No!"

Across the way, Remus rolls his eyes.

"So what do I do? I grovel at her feet until she forgives me, because that's what birds like. Groveling."

Remus sighs.

"Honestly, all a girl really wants is for you to sacrifice some of your dignity for her, you know?"

"James, I really don't think that's helping – " Remus begins.

"I'll train you to be the best groveler in history, Padfoot," James earnestly says.

"Prongs I don't know what to say," Sirius sighs, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling. In a broodingly sarcastic voice, he mutters, "A part of me wants to thank you, and yet I also want to tell you to go stuff your head into the nearest toilet."

James pauses at this and shrugs, "I suppose that's acceptable."

Remus rolls his eyes again and says, "Just apologize to her."

"I've already done that," comes Sirius's downtrodden response.

"Well what'd she say?" Remus asks.

Sirius frowns and glumly mumbles, "…She said that she isn't angry about the poems themselves but because I lied to her for months about being the one who wrote them…" He lifts his hands to scrub at his eyes.

James and Remus exchange a look. The former says, "But that's a good sign, Padfoot. It means that you've got a chance. With enough groveling, Vivian will definitely – "

"Just shut up about the groveling," Sirius snaps suddenly, and stands up with a scowl. "She's never going to forgive me. I reckon I don't blame her, either," he mutters, and then storms up to their dormitory without another word. James frowns as he goes.

"Seriously? Groveling?" Remus asks with another eye roll.

James opens his mouth to defend himself, but ends up just sighing and mumbling, "…It was just a thought. No need to go all mental on me."

Remus just sighs again and doesn't respond.

* * *

Lukas Blair has always had the ability to freeze a man where he stands with a single look, but for all of their physical similarities, Vivian has never been able to replicate the precise way in which her father's eyes narrow with bleak coldness. Over the last few hours, she's realized the reason why: it's because she's never felt furious enough to properly summon it, until now.

"Blair. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages," Mulciber greets as Vivian joins him on the couch in the Slytherin common room. Rosier, Lucius, and Regulus glance her way as she takes a seat, the latter of which gives her a sharper look than the others. Why Regulus hasn't spread the latest drama about his brother around the school, Vivian doesn't know, but so far, no one seems to have been updated on the latest Marauder prank.

She leans back and crosses her legs with a scoff, eyeing Mulciber as he puts his arm over the back of the couch behind her. "That's because I avoid you, you idiot," she snarks at him, though it only makes Mulciber's mouth curl into a snide smile.

"Isn't she such a firecracker?" he drawls to Snape, who is standing in front of the green flames that dance in the hearth in front of them. Snape rolls his eyes and sends Vivian a disdainful look, but doesn't comment.

"Anyway, here," Vivian says, and shoves a roll of parchment into Mulciber's chest. "You need to test it for me to make sure it works."

Mulciber, though lacking brainpower in Vivian's opinion, is smart enough to catch on fairly quickly. He eyes the scroll curiously and begins to open it as he replies, "Why do _I_ need to test it for you? It's _your_ task."

Vivian's only response to this is a bitter, "Because you've been annoying me about finishing it for weeks now and you might as well make yourself useful for once."

Mulciber doesn't question her reason, of course, and just sends her a leering grin before turning to scan the parchment. Vivian just watches his eyes browse its contents, not telling him the real reason that she wants him to be the one to test it. If she admitted to him that she's wary of the thought of killing something (or _someone,_ her mind darkly adds) and then resurrecting it to do her bidding, he'd do more than just laugh at her; he'd question whether she has the ability to follow through to the end.

"Fine, then," Adrian murmurs as he rolls the scroll back up and tucks it into his robes. "It'll be our first date."

Vivian sneers at him, lip curling in disgust. He smirks smugly at her.

"You're so fucked up," Evan drawls from the chair several meters away. He eyes Mulciber with a disgusted expression too, but the way his eyes are gleaming, it's clear that it's just a front. He's obviously amused at Adrian's idea of a perfect first date, though it certainly doesn't stop him from ribbing, "Only _you_ would think murder is romantic."

Mulciber just snickers and crosses his arms. "Actually, I was thinking a trip into the Forbidden Forest would work just as well. Killing a rabbit isn't as messy. Less to cover up."

Vivian rolls her eyes and scoffs, "Whatever. Just tell me when you want to go. I'd like to get it over with."

Adrian shrugs, "No time like the present. We'll leave at midnight. Who's patrolling tonight?"

Vivian opens her mouth to reply, but it's Regulus who responds with a droned, "Clarke and some other Ravenclaw."

At this, Mulciber crows, "The mudblood? We won't have any problems, then. Who else wants to join us?"

Lucius merely rolls his eyes at Adrian's apparent excitement and drawls, "I've no interest. Rosier?"

Evan shrugs, "If I feel like it later, I guess."

Snape is definitely out. He sneers at Vivian silently. His dislike for her is well-known by the others, so they don't bother asking.

"I'll come," Regulus says, and Vivian raises her eyes to look at him warningly. After his stunt last night, she definitely doesn't want to be around him and he probably knows it. Unfortunately for her, he doesn't appear to care whether she wants him near her or not, and merely raises an eyebrow challengingly.

"No, you won't," Vivian snaps, annoyed at his uncaring expression.

Mulciber smirks widely at her refusal and purrs, "She wants me all to herself, I guess."

As he tries to put his arm around her shoulders, Vivian shoves him away and sneers at the younger Black brother with fierce eyes. "Regulus is a manipulative little arsehole and if he comes with us, I'll end up wringing his neck," she hisses, hoping to draw forth some sort of emotion from him. But Regulus merely raises his eyebrow higher, his expression composed and cold; iron in the midst of chilling winter.

Adrian cringes mockingly and wonders, "What'd you do to piss her off, Black?"

Regulus's response only makes Vivian even angrier. He catches her eye and coolly says, "I was just looking out for her."

Her eyes grow a touch colder, and though she doesn't fully know it, she looks exactly like her father when he's trying to put someone in their place. If Regulus feels the effects of her cold eyes, though, he doesn't outwardly show it.

Vivian lifts her chin and stands up, eyeing Regulus for another moment before she turns to Mulciber and says, "Midnight, then."

He nods at her and watches her leave. So does Regulus, but Vivian doesn't pause to waste another moment on him and just storms down to the girl's dormitories. She's still reeling with fury and has been all day, so when she slams the door open, it naturally makes her dormmates jump in surprise.

"Merlin, Blair. What is _wrong_ with you today?" Morrigan complains, hand on her heart as she sits up from where she's lounging in bed. "You've been in a foul mood all day."

Vivian just sneers at her and grabs her towel. She doesn't bother replying as she proceeds to march into the bathroom and slam that door, too.

Rosalind huffs, "Well that was rude."

Across the room, Narcissa just stares at the closed door that Vivian had just slammed and stays silent.

* * *

The Forbidden Forest after dark is creepy, but Vivian isn't afraid. In fact, she takes the lead, marching forward a few paces in front of Adrian and Regulus, who had apparently not taken her threat as seriously as she meant it. She hasn't wrung his neck yet, but she's come close several times already, and they have only just entered the forest.

"Slow down, would you Vivian?" Mulciber drawls at her as he hurries to catch up with her fast pace. He doesn't seem overly concerned as he follows her through the dark trees, though. This isn't the first time any of them have been inside the Forbidden Forest after dark. This sort of outing is practically a rite of passage for many Slytherin upperclassmen. And Marauders, Vivian thinks darkly as she shoves a branch out of her way and storms forward. She hopes it hits Mulciber in his ugly face.

She doesn't slow down. Vivian isn't necessarily a reckless person by nature, but she's been feeling somewhat careless since the events of last night, when she had found out that Sirius Black is the one responsible for sending her those love letters. Since her moment of revelation, she's been actively trying not to think about it. In Gavin's words, she's deflecting. She thinks she's got a right to deflect this time, though.

The _gall_ of that blood traitor. Every time she thinks about the way she let him kiss her, she burns with hot embarrassment. Sirius had tried to speak to her about it throughout the day, but that embarrassment had driven her away from him before he could even say a single word. She doesn't want to let him off the hook. Sirius Black, ever charming and charismatic, has spent his entire life wrangling his way out of taking responsibility for his actions, and Vivian is not going to bow down and let that arsehole walk all over her as well. It doesn't matter that he may have actually meant what he said in those letters, or even in any of their other conversations. She's not an idiot, after all. The fact that he had let her know about him being an illegal animagus says a lot. He wouldn't have gone that far if he didn't actually mean it, but it still doesn't excuse him from lying to her. If he really cared, he would have told her about those letters when he had the chance, instead of allowing his brother to spill his secret.

His brother. She grits her teeth at the thought of Regulus, who is yet another variable in her latest problems. Her perspective of him isn't any better than her current perspective of Sirius. He had no right to push his way into the center of her blossoming relationship. Then, to claim that he had only done so in order to protect her? Vivian really could strangle him. It's all too obvious that his real reason was to anger his brother. The feud between the Black siblings is a never-ending dispute that only seems to grow more intense with each year, but she never thought that she'd find herself in the middle of it.

"Keep your eyes out for some kind of animal. The bigger the better," Mulciber says from somewhere behind her. She doesn't turn to see how far ahead she is from the others. She just clenches her fingers around her wand and keeps walking.

It's not for another ten minutes or so that they finally find an animal that will work well enough to test her spell on. The little fox that scurries its way across their path is immediately caught by Mulciber's _petrificus totalus_ spell, which is fired quickly and efficiently. Vivian purses her mouth at the sight of the harmless creature being lifted into the air, its legs squirming as the immobilizing spell slowly begins to wear off.

Regulus steps up beside Mulciber and crosses his arms, leaning against one of the trees as he watches the proceedings. Thus far, he's remained mostly silent, speaking only in hushed undertones to Adrian and only when he's spoken to first. He hasn't made any attempt to talk to Vivian, probably because he can see how furious she is with him and is playing it safe. Sort of. If he really wanted to play it safe, he wouldn't have come, but to be honest, a part of her is glad that he did. At least with Regulus here, Mulciber isn't being as overbearing as he otherwise would.

"Who wants to do the honors?" Adrian wonders as he cruelly lifts the fox up and down by use of his magic. The animal is going crazy now, frightened and trying to get back to the ground without success. Its paws scrabble for purchase, and, finding none, its mouth pulls back into a soundless squeal. Vivian reminds herself that this is far better than killing an actual person, and tries to ignore the guilt that's beginning to pucker through her chest as she watches it.

"Just kill it already," she tells Mulciber. She ignores Regulus, too, who is now looking at her with furrowed brows, as if he's trying to reconcile this colder version of herself to the one she was yesterday, when he had walked in on her warmly holding Sirius in the dungeon corridor.

Adrian shrugs and lets the fox drop down to the ground. He releases the levitation spell quickly. Just as quickly, he mutters, _"Avada Kedavra," _beneath his breath, and Vivian swallows back another sharp wave of guilt as the green light slams into the fox just as it's attempting to escape. The poor thing doesn't even have a chance. It trips into the dirt without so much as a sound, it's black eyes now sightless and devoid of life.

It's difficult to explain the emotions that spiral through her as she looks into those soulless eyes. She stands there in the middle of the Forbidden Forest with Adrian and Regulus for company, and she wonders how everything has changed so quickly. Just yesterday, she was laughing with James Potter over a mug of butterbeer, giving him relationship advice, and now she's about to test out the spell that she had spent the entirety of last night working out. The spell that the Dark Lord himself wants her to create. The spell that will essentially solidify her allegiance to the darkest wizard in history.

People react to heartbreak in different ways. For some, they fall into despair and depression, unable to bring themselves to move through their day to day lives; exhausted at the prospect of continuing on. For others, they try to gather their strength, to hold onto some semblance of themselves – to prove to the world that they are okay, and by doing so, remind themselves that a little bit of heartbreak isn't going to shatter them. It's just one of the inevitable congruencies of life, after all. Pain is a subset of pleasure.

It is always the little things that make the largest waves; tiny inconsistencies that you initially brush off. The things you don't notice. The things that seem insignificant. It's strange, how easily you can trip over them when you're not paying attention. Stranger still, how quickly they gain momentum. So you try to ignore them by shoving them into a box and burning them to ashes. You try to close the door and lock it, but you don't realize that the hinges of that box are broken and the lock on that door is rusty. Eventually, those small inconsistencies refuse to be overlooked. The heartbreak refuses to lay itself to rest. But she doesn't know this yet, because she is still trying to burn everything to ash. All she knows in this moment is this:

Vivian Blair does not surrender to despair or depression, and she doesn't gather her strength. She is not a Gryffindor who has strength in droves. She's a Slytherin, and she flies by her own wings – straight through the darkness if she has to, because she is not afraid of it. At least, she tries not to be.

There are two kinds of people in this world: the ones who fight against the darkness and the ones who embrace it. Those who embrace it aren't always evil. They only know that sometimes, in order to succeed, you have to first surrender.

She looks down at the soulless eyes that stare unseeingly into the dark forest, and in a low, clear voice, she says, _"Vivicendium." _It is in this moment that Vivian Blair surrenders, too.

When the fox's eyes flash with cognizance, she is not filled with relief. When the creature begins to move, she is not allayed. She feels neither joy nor sorrow; warmth or respite. No, this is something else. It is the barest edge of heartbreak before the hammer falls; the tender grip of winter darkness before the snow sets in. This is the surrendering. It is the first beginning of a fall that will take decades to be realized. The initial step into the darkness that Vivian Blair will one day become well acquainted with.

Some years from now, she will take the next step, and she will think on this moment with a sense of dark irony. For when Regulus Black steps forward to kneel beside the reanimated fox and breathes, "You did it," with a voice full of amazement, neither of them can see the consequences of this one action.

It is, after all, only a small inconsistency; the first pebble laid down in the path that they will one day tread together. The initial spark and the first cinder.

For such is Vivicendium; divine fire that will burn her world to ash.


	54. Quid doleo? Mutato nomine de te fabula

**Chapter Fifty Four | Quid doleo? Mutato nomine de te fabula**

**[Why do you grieve? Change the name and the story is yours]**

James Potter is a hard person to talk to alone. Besides the fact that he's constantly being followed by his friends, the whole castle usually takes notice of him because of his popularity, which makes Gavin's current job a bit difficult, to say the least. He's been trying to talk to him all day, but it isn't until lunchtime that he finally manages it.

"Potter!" Gavin calls, flagging him down as he's heading into the Great Hall. Peter Pettigrew is with him, but his other friends seem to be absent. Gavin assumes that Lupin is off trying to break Sirius out of the dark mood he's been in, for reasons unknown to Hogwarts at large. Not even Gavin is aware of the recent circumstances, at least not fully. He is, however, aware of something that Potter clearly isn't.

"Clarke? What do you want? The next prefect meeting isn't for another – "

"Yes yes, I know, I'm the one who schedules those meetings even though it's _your_ job," Gavin mutters with an eye roll.

Potter raises an eyebrow at his sarcastic commentary and sniffs, "I've offered to do it myself plenty of times."

Gavin fights back another eye roll. "You've offered _twice_. The last time was just after Christmas break."

James merely sniffs again and takes his glasses off, polishing them absentmindedly on the hem of his robes in a thoroughly nonchalant fashion. At this side, Peter stuffs his hands into his pockets and glances through the doors of the Great Hall. The scent of warm food is nearly torturous.

Gavin shoots a look at Peter and frowns, "Can I speak to you alone? It'll just take a moment."

At this, James casts a speculative glance at Gavin, then at Peter, and responds, "You want to speak to me alone?"

"That's what I just said."

"But I've never spoken to you alone before."

"I'm not going to drag you into an empty classroom and murder you or something."

"You do always _look_ like you want to murder me, though. I feel unsafe."

Gavin stares at him for all of two seconds before he impatiently snaps, "Fine." He mutters a few annoyed things beneath his breath that shan't be repeated and then grumbles, "It's about Vivian. I thought…I mean, it's really none of your business I suppose…it's not really mine either but – "

"We're pretty hungry, Clarke. Do hurry up," James breezily tells him as he slips his glasses back on.

Gavin purses his mouth, glances around at the hallway, and then reaches over to grab James's arm. As he tugs him a bit closer, James's eyebrows raise slightly higher. Mainly because Gavin Clarke doesn't make a habit of willingly talking to him and this situation is more than a little confusing.

His confusion fades slightly, though, when Gavin murmurs, "I saw Vivian go into the Forbidden Forest last night. With Adrian Mulciber and Regulus Black."

Yes, this does make his confusion lessen somewhat. James's nonchalance takes a downward turn into a more serious expression.

"Well what happened?" he prompts when Gavin doesn't say anything more.

The question makes Gavin a bit impatient. He drops his hand from James's arm and admits, "I didn't follow them. They looked like they were up to no good."

James sends him another raised eyebrow. "And you didn't hand out detentions or inflict proper Ravenclaw justice? That's very unlike you."

Gavin seems to agree, because he sighs, "I know. Things are getting more dangerous though and I just figured – "

"You did the right thing," James tells him. "What with you being a muggleborn and all, I doubt things would've ended well if you had confronted Vivian with Mulciber there."

Gavin agrees with this too, but he still looks a bit upset with himself.

"…Why're you telling me this, anyway? You should just go talk to Vivian about it yourself. You _are_ friends," James says after a brief moment of silence.

Gavin sends him a dry look and reminds him, "You're the _Head Boy."_

James pauses, laughs a bit, and responds, "Oh right. I am," as he runs a hand through his hair. Then, turning to Peter, he elbows him playfully and adds, "Sometimes I forget, you know, Wormta – er right. Thanks for informing me of this…situation, Clarke. Good day to you."

Gavin drags him back before James can escape and growls, "So _since_ you're the Head Boy, _what_ are you going to do about this?"

James sighs as if he's dealing with a child and plucks Gavin's hand from his shoulder. He swings an arm up over Peter's shoulders and lifts a hand to his chin in dramatic speculation. "Well let's put this situation into perspective. Pride is obviously hurt by the latest revelation regarding our dear, pathetically dimwitted Padfoot. She seems to have decided to abandon her new position of Honorary Marauder, which is a shame because it took us hours to come up with her new nickname. Moreover, if she was seen heading into the Forest with the troll and Padfoot's baby brother, she's obviously up to something that is probably nefarious. Do you concur, Wormtail?"

At his side, Peter furrows his brow and says, "Maybe this is about that dark spell?"

James hums and murmurs, "You may be right – "

"Okay, but how did you give Vivian a nickname without her murdering you?" Gavin interrupts, crossing his arms and looking wildly confused as he tries to follow James's perplexing commentary.

James and Peter both look over at him as if they're surprised he's still there. They blink at him for a moment before James waves him off and goes back to what he was saying.

"There's really only one thing for it, Wormtail," James nods. "We'll have to inform Padfoot about this. Okay, right, I need a bouquet of flowers first though."

Gavin's expression falls to utter bewilderment.

"And maybe some chocolates – Wormtail?"

Peter nods. "I have an unopened box of Swiss chocolates back in the dormitory."

James sighs out in relief and moves to put both hands on Peter's shoulders. In a solemn voice he says, "You're sacrifice is most appreciated."

Peter opens his mouth to respond, but…

"What is _going on?_ Why do you need flowers and chocolates? I told you this so that you can help Vivian – " Gavin demands, looking incredibly frustrated with all of this confusion.

James laughs and dramatically shakes his head at the now-ruffled Ravenclaw. "Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. I really would have thought you'd be able to follow this better," James sighs, then out of the corner of his mouth, says to Peter, "He definitely wouldn't make it onto the Honorary Marauder list."

Gavin's eyebrow twitches.

James doesn't notice because he's too busy puffing out his chest and proclaiming, "You _clearly_ have no idea how to properly woo a lady. We obviously have to bring Pride back into the light and the only way that's gonna happen is if Padfoot steps up his wooing game and begs her forgiveness."

Gavin looks incredibly confused by this. "Why does he need to beg her forgiveness? What did he do?"

James sighs very loudly. "Are you _sure_ you're a Ravenclaw, Clarke?" Before Gavin can defend his house status, James explains in a quieter voice, "Sirius would murder me if I told you this so keep it to yourself. He's the one who's been writing her those poems."

At this, Gavin's mouth drops open. In an incredulous voice, he repeats, _"He's_ the secret poet? _Sirius Black?"_

"Yes," James says impatiently, "so now you understand why I need some flowers and chocolates."

Gavin pauses and splutters, "Your plan is – "

"Glorious?" James supplies with a smug smile.

Gavin promptly responds, "I was going to say 'bad'."

James just shrugs. "Look, Clarke, I don't expect you to understand the fine art of wooing. I mean, look at you. All I'm asking is that you give me a chance to help Padfoot out before you muck everything up by getting involved."

He throws his arm back over Peter's shoulders and starts heading towards the Great Hall, but before he can escape, Gavin hastily says, "This isn't going to work. Vivian hates public displays of affection."

James, though, merely makes a face at him from over his shoulder and sniffs, "Just trust me, Clarke. I know how to woo a bird, okay?"

As he disappears into the Great Hall with Peter in tow, Gavin stares after him with an expression of extreme doubt, and mumbles, "…You actually really don't," before marching after them to claim a spot at the Ravenclaw table. Merlin, he hopes James doesn't make a spectacle out of this, or Vivian will be pissed.

"You know what?" James murmurs as him and Peter sit down at the Gryffindor table. "I think we need a female perspective. Since I've never mucked things up this badly with my Lilyflower, I fear I may not have enough expertise in the art of groveling."

Peter's only response to this is, "Well can we eat lunch first? Because Padfoot's latest drama is making me really hungry."

James nods sagely. "I second that, Wormtail. We need to make sure we keep our priorities straight in these dramatic times. Food comes before Padfoot."

As he starts filling his plate, Peter wholeheartedly agrees.

* * *

"Lilyflower! Lilyflower! Lily – "

"_What,_ Potter?" Lily snaps, and then quickly adds, "And would you stop calling me that?"

"May I remind you that you lost the bet, dear Lilyflower?" James smiles, inordinately pleased with this fact. "I can call you whatever I like."

Lily looks like she could throttle him. "Just tell me what you want so that I can get on with my life," she impatiently says, and crosses her arms.

"I need a female perspective," is all James tells her, and then proceeds to take her arm and drag her down the hallway without warning.

Woe to the man who thinks he can drag a woman like Lily Evans down a corridor without there being repercussions.

"What are you _doing?!"_ she squawks at him, and roughly drags her arm back before James can pull her more than a few steps. She looks like she's seconds away from physically knocking some sense into him, which is quite unnecessary because James Potter has plenty of sense, thank you.

With an impatient sigh, James puts his hand on his hips and says, "Well, see, it's Pride. She's angry at Padfoot because he's terrible at falling in love and now I think she's getting back at him by trying to sell her soul, which is overall incredibly dimwitted of her but since she's Padfoot's bird, I guess I can't be that surprised, they're both really bad at this, you know?"

"Wait, wait," Lily cuts in, putting one hand in the air whilst rubbing her forehead with the other. "What's this about selling your soul and why are you talking about pride as if it's a person?"

James sighs again. "Pride _is_ a person. That's Vivian's new nickname, since she's now an Honorary Marauder. Though she doesn't seem to remember that bit," he adds beneath his breath, sounding somewhat frustrated.

Lily stares at him throughout this explanation. She now looks like she's unsure which urge is stronger: to smack some sense into him or to just walk away. Honestly, for a group of teenage boys, the Marauders take drama to the next level.

"Take a deep breath, James, and _calmly_ tell me what's going on," Lily says after a moment, apparently deciding to go for the third option: hearing him out. She will most likely regret it, but there's something strange about seeing James so worked up like this. He's usually so annoyingly smug about everything.

James does indeed take a deep breath. He is slightly calmer when he begins, "Okay, so you know about those love poems Vivian's been receiving all year?"

Now, before we get to Lily's impending reaction, two things should be taken note of. The first is the simple fact that Hogwarts is a school like any other. Despite its magical curriculum, it is filled with adolescent teenagers who treat gossip like currency. Everyone knows about Vivian Blair's love poem problem. It's hardly a state secret, especially since Vivian has been so vocal about it in the past, snappishly telling everyone around her that the love poems are crap and whoever is sending them should stop lest they want to get hexed to kingdom come. Lily has of course also heard about the love poems, but in wake of it being NEWTs year, she hasn't given it much thought. She's not the sort who gossips all that much.

Right. Now that that's over with, the other thing to take note of is the fact that Lily Evans happens to be very astute. The moment James mentions 'love poems', she promptly connects the dots.

"_Sirius_ is the one who's been sending her those poems?" she demands, sounding thoroughly appalled.

James takes one look at her eyes and recognizes the anger that's pooling within them. He's been on the receiving end of that anger enough times by now to know that it isn't going to end well.

"Um," he hedges, suddenly quite wary.

Lily straightens her spine and brusquely says, "Are you telling me that Sirius has been leading her on this entire time?"

James splutters, "It's not what you – "

"I am going to have a word with that tosser," Lily growls, and then stomps off, leaving a still spluttering James behind.

"This is not good," he mumbles, and then hurries after her.

* * *

"_You're_ Vivian's secret admirer?" Lily Evans demands as she barges into the Marauders' dormitory, where Padfoot, Wormtail, and Moony are congregating before classes start. The moment the door slams open, all three of them jolt up in shock. Lily's never come up here before and it's quite an irregular sight.

"Lily – " James hurriedly says as he runs in after her. His hair is in more disarray than usual and his glasses are a bit skewed, giving him a very unkempt appearance.

"Shut up, Potter," Lily snaps, and then turns back to Sirius and scathingly says, _"I cannot believe you,_ Sirius. How could you do something so – so – _cruel?"_

The word makes Sirius visibly flinch. He sits up a bit straighter on his bed and crosses his arms. The casual nonchalance that he always manages to embody is nowhere in sight.

"You really _don't_ have a heart, do you?" she barks. "Sending love letters to a girl as a prank? And then, as if that's not enough, you pretend to _actually fall_ for her – all the while laughing about it with your awful friends the moment her back is turned – "

"Lily, that's not – " James tries again.

"No, Potter, I'm so tired of your antics," she blazes over his words. "You've always toed the line with your childish pranks, but this time you've gone too far. If you ask me, you're lucky Vivian hasn't decided to hex your brains out."

Sirius flinches again, but Lily isn't quite done.

"And to think that, for a moment, I thought you weren't so bad after all!" she says, whirling on James with an accusation imbedded in her voice. "You let this carry on all this time without doing anything to stop it! This is all _your_ fault, Potter!"

James's mouth hangs open in shock.

"All four of you – you're such immature idiots! If I was Vivian, I'd never speak to any of you again!" she exclaims, and then shoulders past James to throw open the door that he had closed in an attempt to keeps things between themselves.

Right as she's turning the doorknob, though, James throws himself at it and it slams shut again. In a panicked voice, he says, "You're not helping, Lily! You're only making Sirius feel even worse!"

That's true enough. Sirius looks like he wishes the world would just swallow him up. His gloomy expression is back with full force.

Lily's response to James's panicked words doesn't make the gloom lessen any. With an incredulous laugh, she replies, "Well good, I hope he feels absolutely awful. He _deserves_ it."

Sirius flinches and mumbles, "Yeah…I reckon I do," in a voice so far removed from his usual arrogance that it makes even Lily pause.

Her anger fades slightly when she finally takes a good look at him and sees the thoroughly dejected expression on his face. In a slightly more hesitant tone, she asks, "…You do?"

Sirius casts her a downtrodden look and just sighs.

Lily pauses again. She glances over at James, who is giving her a weighted look, and mutters, "Merlin, Sirius. You really got yourself into a mess, haven't you?" The last of her anger fades away as she sighs, "Do you _really_ love her, or have you been leading her on this whole time?"

The question makes Sirius look quite insulted. He narrows his eyes at her and responds, "Would I really go _that far_ with a prank, Evans?" Then, seeing the doubtful look on her face, snaps, "I _wouldn't_. Bloody hell."

Lily rolls her eyes at him and says, "Well you can't blame me for making sure. The fact that you ever had the idea to begin with is just – "

"Lily," James coughs, sending her a pleading look.

Lily pauses again before muttering, "Fine, fine. I'm sure Sirius knows just how thoughtless, idiotic, and _cruel_ his actions have been – right, well what are you gonna do about it, Sirius?"

It isn't Sirius who responds to this, though. James is the one who says, "He's going to go up to her and properly apologize, of course. I have a plan that includes lot of groveling – since, you know, it always works pretty well with you, and – "

"Potter, please shut up," Lily tells him. He does, promptly. She rolls her eyes at him and his 'groveling', and says, "Don't listen to a word he says, Sirius. Potter has absolutely no bloody clue what women want." For the second time in the last five minutes, James's mouth hangs open. Before he can defend his wooing abilities, though, Lily merely adds, "You need to go up to her and apologize, and you need to _mean_ it, because she'll be able to tell if you don't. Women don't like flashy shows of affection. It just looks arrogant and insincere. Don't bother with flowers or whatever James tries to wrangle you into. Vivian will be able to see right through that. Oh, and while we're at it, do not under any circumstance publicly apologize to her, because then it just looks like you're trying to make a show of it."

Sirius blinks at her, hardly looking like he's listening. Remus and Wormtail exchange a glance and remain perfectly silent. James, well…

"No flashy shows of affection, no flowers, and no publicity, right," he murmurs, as if he's taking mental taking notes. "What are your thoughts about giving flowers in a _private_ setting – or are flowers just too cliché in general?"

Lily turns to glower at him. "Potter, if you use this advice against me I swear to Merlin – "

He hesitantly laughs, "I'm only asking on behalf of Padfoot." Then he clears his throat and tries to look innocent.

Lily rolls her eyes at him and mutters, "Why do you always get me involved in your drama?"

James just smiles at her.

"So…if I asked you out in a totally normal, boring way, without an audience or flowers or any of the things birds usually like, would you say yes?" he hopefully wonders.

Lily's 'I-want-to-throttle-you-expression' comes back at full force. In a snappish tone, she responds, "You should _try_ helping your _friend,_ Potter," and then storms out of the dormitory without another word.

James hums, crosses his arms, and ponders – until he sees the way Sirius is looking at him in a slightly judgmental manner, and mumbles, "What? Just because _you_ managed to muck up your love life doesn't mean _I _have to."

Sirius just glowers at him and, falling onto his bed, mutters, "Oh shove off already."

James sniffs and strides over to his bed, deciding that it's in his best interest not to respond.

* * *

Prongs's sixth best characteristic is that he is a top-notch wooer of women. Sure, his pursual of his own lady-love has had its ups and downs. He can admit that some of his techniques have been occasionally questionable. He does regret a _few_ of his more outlandish ideas, such as that time he wrangled Padfoot into following him around with his guitar while he belted out Celestina Warbeck songs, or that time he had handed out badges to fellow Gryffindors that said 'Lilyflower, give James a chance!'. (In theory, both had been _great_ ideas, if only McGonagall hadn't confiscated Padfoot's guitar and Lily hadn't made it a point to re-charm the badges to say 'Piss off, Potter' instead.)

Those few instances aside though, he considers his wooing abilities to be pretty incredible, which is why he wakes up extra early the next morning to pass along his vast array of knowledge.

"Merlin, is he still sleeping?" Prongs asks as he pulls aside the crimson curtains surrounding Padfoot's bed. He rolls his eyes at the sprawled-out form of his best mate, whose mouth is open as he quietly snores. Prongs shakes his head and sighs, "I really don't know what girls see in him."

Moony, who is in the process of going through his textbooks for the day and prepping his bag, glances over with a shrug. In a tone that is slightly dry and just a little bit weirded out, he wonders, "So, um, should I ask what you're planning to do with that comb?"

Wormtail sleepily sits up in bed and, stretching his arms overhead, mumbles, "I still think this is a bad idea, Prongs. I mean, who cares if Blair doesn't want him anymore? Besides, Lily specifically said not to do this."

Mention of Vivian and Lily has Moony's eyebrow raising. Across the way, Prongs sighs in exasperation and responds, "We've already gone over this, Wormtail. Padfoot is completely pathetic when he's in love and, as fellow Marauders, it's our duty to mitigate the latest disaster that he stupidly walked into like the idiot he is."

Moony's eyebrow raises just a touch higher. He watches Padfoot roll over with a sleepy mumble and groan, "Shoveff Prongs, Imtrynasleep," evidently having heard that last bit.

Prongs shakes his head at him. "Besides, I know how to woo women, Wormtail. Lilyflower just doesn't want to admit how taken she is with everything I do for her," he says as he twists the comb in his hand and reaches over to take the glass of water that he had placed on the small table beside Padfoot's bed. He's quite unapologetic about pouring into Padfoot's face. He has a _schedule,_ after all.

"What the fuck James!" Padfoot snaps, sitting straight up in bed and rubbing at his face. He's definitely not sleepy anymore. In fact, his eyes are flashing with annoyance as he turns to glower petulantly at Prongs.

Prongs sighs at him and points to the bathroom door. "Shower," he demands.

Padfoot stares at him in bewilderment. "Why?" he wonders.

Prongs sighs again. "Because you smell like wet dog, that's why."

Padfoot narrows his eyes at him and mutters, "That's because you just dumped a glass of water on me, you prat."

Still, Padfoot does indeed head into the bathroom to take a shower, and when they hear the water turn on, Moony hesitantly asks, "So…the comb?" He watches Prongs step over to Padfoot's trunk and start digging through it, searching for a uniform shirt that isn't wrinkled.

"Wormtail, would you care to explain? I'm gonna have to steam this," Prongs sighs as he pulls out a button-up that he'd dragged from the bottommost corner.

As he clamors up and begins to look through something that, strangely, looks like a girl's magazine, Wormtail announces, "Clarke saw Blair go into the Forbidden Forest last night with Mulciber and Regulus."

At this, Moony's eyebrows raise. "What was she doing hanging around _those_ two?"

Wormtail shrugs. "We suspect it has something to do with that spell she needs to make."

Off to the side, Prongs mumbles, "She said it was on page 8…"

The other two cast weird looks at him. Moony frowns, "Right…so what does _that_ have to do with…whatever it is you're doing, then?"

Wormtail shrugs again.

"Isn't it obvious?" Prongs asks. "We have to clean up Padfoot's act or else Pride will never forgive him. He's too pathetic to handle this himself. I mean, you've _seen_ how he is around her, and since she started giving him the cold shoulder, he's gotten even _more_ pathetic."

Moony's eyebrow raises again. "Um. Okay. But didn't Lily tell him to just try apologizing to her again? Besides, I don't think this is any of our business," he says.

Prongs turns to gape at him and repeats, _"None of our business?_ Have you gotten any sleep the last few nights? Between the tossing and turning and the way he's constantly staying up late to stare at Pride's name on the Map, I've hardly gotten any sleep _at all!" _

Moony still looks skeptical, so Prongs adds, "If we don't do something, Pride is going to finish that spell and sell her soul to Voldemort's pale arse, and _then_ how do you reckon Padfoot will be?"

As he gets up from his bed, Wormtail mutters, "Desperate."

Prongs nods. "Yeah, so desperate that he gets even more pathetic than he already is. I mean, just imagine it, Moony. He barely does anything anymore except stare gloomily into space. Unless we're in class, and then he just stares gloomily at Vivian."

Moony rolls his eyes. "If he just tried apologizing again – "

"No Moony, he needs us. Besides, I've been preparing myself for this moment all my life," Prongs declares, turning back to flip through the girly magazine. He's too busy muttering something about ironing charms to notice the dry and thoroughly unimpressed look Moony is sending him.

"Aha! Found it!" Prongs exclaims just as the bathroom door opens and Padfoot walks back into the room dressed in a pair of trousers that probably should have been washed days ago.

He pauses in the middle of scrubbing his hair dry with a towel and glances up at Prongs. "You found what?" he asks, none the wiser to what he's about to be wrangled into.

Prongs sends him a smile and tosses the magazine onto his bed. Padfoot raises an eyebrow at it, now recognizing it as one Marlene often reads. It's called 'Elegant Enchantress' or something weird like that. Why Prongs is reading a women's magazine, he's got no idea.

Poor thing doesn't realize what he's about to experience. If he did, he probably would've turned on his heel and locked himself back in the bathroom. As it is, though…

"Oi! What are you – Moony, what is he _doing?"_ Padfoot yelps as Prongs shoves him onto the edge of his bed and starts attacking him with the comb. He tries to bat his hands away, but to no avail. Prongs is on a mission.

Wormtail and Moony both sit back and watch, biting back smirks.

* * *

"Would someone explain to me what's going on?" Padfoot demands. He reaches up to run a hand through his hair in an attempt to transform it back to its usual tousled perfection, only for Prongs to drag his hand away from his combed head.

"Just remember, Padfoot, this is for your own good," is all Prongs says in response, and glances over at Moony, who is pretending to be leafing through his Care of Magical Creatures textbook while he leans against the stone wall of the corridor. He isn't studying, of course: the Map is actually lodged in between the pages, just out of sight. Moony shakes his head at Prongs, silently answering the question in his eyes.

Padfoot, who is still quite cranky from the last half hour spent experiencing Prongs's fussing, impatiently grumbles, "I don't understand why tucking my shirt in and choking myself with a tie is for my own good. Is this another stunt to ask Lily out? Should I have brought my guitar again?"

When one is friends with James Potter, one never quite knows what his reasons are for doing, well, anything, hence Padfoot's apparent confusion at the way the morning has gone so far. Is it strange for Prongs to randomly attack him with a comb and start spewing things like 'Hold on Padfoot, don't put that shirt on until I steam out the wrinkles'? Well yes, it is. But is it any stranger than some of the other things Prongs has done over the years? This is questionable. Sometimes, Padfoot honestly wonders about him. Point is that this doesn't feel very different from many of Prongs schemes concerning his dear Lilyflower, so he really doesn't expect what ends up happening.

In hindsight, Prongs will admit that he probably should have at least mentioned something, if only to ensure that Padfoot had a line prepared. Instead, though, when Moony gives the thumbs up and Prongs quickly turns to Wormtail to take the box of Swiss chocolates he has dishonorably (and somewhat unhappily) sacrificed for the cause, Padfoot _isn't_ prepared. In fact, Padfoot has _no idea_ what's going on.

"Here," Prongs says, shoving the box of chocolates into Padfoot's arms, who barely manages to catch them before he's being hauled to the end of the corridor and told, "Make sure you smile – oh, Merlin! I forgot the flowers, hold on a moment – "

A moment later, a bouquet of roses is being shoved into Padfoot's arms alongside the chocolate, and Padfoot turns to blink at Prongs in utter bewilderment.

"Why do I need flow – "

"Now Padfoot, I recommend getting down on your knees, but just listen to your instincts, alright? Groveling is a fine art and there's no right or wrong way to do it," Prongs rattles on, shoving him forward.

The word 'groveling' makes Padfoot's jaw snap closed. He turns to look at Prongs with an expression that is part betrayal, part shock, and part fear. Prongs merely puts his hands on his shoulders and says, "Just remember the first rule of groveling: all girls really want is for you to throw away your dignity."

With that, Prongs shoves Padfoot into the hallway and hastens backwards lest he's seen by Pride, who is at this very moment marching down the very corridor that Padfoot has just epically tripped into. What happens next will be remembered with varying degrees of consternation, embarrassment, and amusement in the future, though for now, the first of the two are more applicable to the situation at hand.

Now, in Prongs's humble opinion, being the leader of the dishonorable Marauders requires several important traits that he happens to possess and Padfoot does not. Being a top-notch wooer of women isn't exactly the most important trait in the arsenal of the average Marauder, but it certainly helps when one is trying to smooth-talk your way out of trouble. Padfoot would naturally claim to be a better wooer than him and would predictably bring up the impressive experience he has with the common bird, but it's obvious to Prongs that he lacks experience dealing with the _un_common bird – which Pride most definitely is. It's these sorts of things that proves just how unqualified he is, really. Honestly, the manner in which Padfoot stumbles his way through the situation only serves to prove this point all the more.

Pride, who is storming forward with an expressionless face, takes one look at Padfoot and comes to a full stop. She stares at him. Her blank eyes turn a touch baffled. Beneath her incredulous stare, Padfoot, well, flounders.

"…Vivian. I, erm, I'm not really sure what I – um, I think these are for you but I don't really – "

"Did you comb your hair?" Pride asks, sounding slightly judgmental.

Padfoot pauses, then reaches up to finally muss his hair up, as he's been trying to do for the last half hour. "No, of course I didn't," he laughs awkwardly.

Pride's eyebrow twitches as she takes in the sight of his tucked-in shirt and perfectly knotted tie. Sirius Black has never looked so…dapper before.

"…Potter's gotten to you, hasn't he?" she finally decides.

At this, Padfoot hesitates, then casts a confused glance over his shoulder at where Prongs is standing in the next hallway over. From his position around the corner, Prongs makes the universal sign to keep silent or die as he draws a finger across his neck.

"…Um. No," Padfoot splutters, turning back to face Pride.

Pride raises an eyebrow at him and he clears his throat.

"Right. Uh – "

"_Vivian, I deeply apologize for being the biggest tosser in the history of the world,"_ a voice suggests from the shadows. Both Padfoot and Pride turn to glare at Prongs's poor hiding spot.

A brief, uncomfortable silence captures them, until Pride crosses her arms and wonders, "Well are you gonna say it or not?"

Padfoot opens his mouth, then closes it, then turns to throw another glare into the shadows, then turns back to Pride with a frustrated expression. Finally, he releases a deep sigh and does something that Pride isn't expecting. Neither is he, for that matter, until he actually ends up doing it. Honestly, he never thought he'd get onto his knees in front of a girl, but that's exactly what he does.

"Vivian. I am the biggest idiot. Hurting you was never my intention. Well actually it was. At first. But it stopped being my intention a long time ago and I am really…truly, honestly – "

"What's going on here, Vivian?" Adrian Mulciber suddenly wonders, appearing on the other end of the corridor with Lucius and Avery in tow. Padfoot's words are promptly cut off as he hurriedly clamors back to his feet, face flushing at having been seen on his knees by anyone besides the girl he's trying to apologize to. As Mulciber approaches, he shifts on his feet, looking like he wants to flee, which is really quite unlike him. Sirius Black never backs away from trouble, especially when it comes in the form of Adrian Mulciber. His desire to do so now only makes it all the more obvious how uncomfortable this is for him.

He hazards a glance at Vivian, only to find that she's watching him with a strange light in her eyes. It's not quite as cold as it's been all week, but there's still plenty of wariness to it. The closer Mulciber gets, though, the most guarded her expression becomes, until the last remnant of wildfire is quietly shuttered off.

Adrian takes one look at the bouquet of roses in Sirius's arms and raises an eyebrow. "Are you propositioning my fiancée, Black?" The thought seems to amuse him. He slips an arm over Vivian's shoulders, only for her to elbow it off a moment later. Mulciber doesn't look like he appreciates it overmuch.

"What was that for?" he demands, sounding a touch angry now.

"Just shut up," Vivian snaps at him. Her eyes glaze over with coldness. When she turns back to look at Sirius, no hint of warmth can be seen. She sneers, "I'm sure that Black was just trying to prank me, _as usual,"_ and then promptly marches off before anything else can be said.

Mulciber eyes Sirius distastefully and drawls, "It had _better _be just a prank, blood traitor." He glances at the roses and sneers one more time before following after Pride, who is ducking around the opposite corner as she tries to cling to her coldness.

As for Padfoot, he mournfully drops the bouquet and chucks the box of Swiss chocolates at the wall, much to the horror of Peter, who is quick to rush over in an attempt to salvage them.

"…That went well, all things considered," Prongs says thoughtfully as he steps into the corridor. Moony follows him, looking a bit wary.

The reason for his wariness is, of course, because Sirius is now undoing all the hard work that James had spent the morning perfecting. He angrily loosens his tie, untucks his shirt, and pushes his hands into his hair to give it a furious tousle. When he's done, he looks much more like himself.

"That went _well?"_ Sirius repeats with a humorless laugh. "Are you serious?"

James obviously knows better than to follow this question up with the Marauders' customary response, and merely clears his throat.

"Well…I mean, she didn't hex you, so that's…good," James mumbles.

"A little warning would've been nice!" Sirius bites, as if James hadn't spoken at all.

James pauses. "Right. I'll warn you next time then."

Sirius whirls around to angrily respond, "There won't be a next time because _she hates me!" _And then with a dramatic huff, he storms away without another word.

Prongs crosses his arms and ponders once more. Wormtail mourns his ruined box of chocolates. Moony sighs and dryly says, "The comb might've been a step too far."

Prongs shakes his head and says, "No, it was the dignity. He didn't throw away enough of it."

Moony rolls his eyes and goes over to help Wormtail, who is inspecting each piece of chocolate before dropping it back into the box. He looks quite appalled at Padfoot's lack of decorum and is most certainly regretting his sacrifice.

"You know what?" Prongs muses. "Maybe Lilyflower was right."

Moony just rolls his eyes again and doesn't respond.

* * *

Classes have already started by the time Vivian marches into the Slytherin common room. She's due to be in Arithmancy right now, but honestly, she has more important things to think about. One of those things is following her even now, as she maneuvers her way around the chairs and makes for the entrance to the girl's dormitories. Mentally referring to Adrian Mulciber as a 'thing' makes her feel slightly better, but only just.

"Why was that blood traitor trying to give you flowers?" he demands as he follows her. Lucius and Avery have already gone off to class, uninterested in Mulciber's current plight, so unfortunately it's just the two of them. There are a few other students from various years in the common room who have the morning free of classes, but they don't seem to care overmuch about Vivian or Adrian. They glance up as they pass, but quickly return to whatever it is they're doing without a second glance.

Vivian whirls around to face Mulciber and scoffs, "I don't know. Like I said, he was probably trying to prank me. Just lay off already, Adrian."

Now, you may be wondering if Vivian Blair actually believes this. After all, she is a Slytherin, and Slytherins have a startlingly wonderful ability to see through things that might cloud the judgement of others. This ability is why they are said to be cunning and shrewd. They possess within their nature a resounding talent for sniffing out the truth, and are capable of curving it in such a way so as to use it to their advantage.

"If it _is_ a prank, then it's fucking weird," Mulciber grumbles, crossing his arms and eyeing Vivian with a discerning look on his face.

Adrian Mulciber is a Slytherin too, and he's just as capable at sniffing out the truth, which is why Vivian immediately gives out a scornful laugh and sneers, "How should _I_ know what goes on in the blood traitor's brainless skull? Everyone knows how much effort it takes for him to form a coherent thought."

The adamance in her words makes Mulciber relax his shoulders just so. It's hardly noticeable at all, really, but Slytherins always know when they're triumphing in their efforts. It's like a sixth sense that's hardwired into their DNA, telling them when they are succeeding in curving the truth.

"Fine, whatever," Adrian mutters, relaxing just a tiny bit more. Vivian watches the slight fall of his shoulders carefully, taking note of the way his eyes become a touch clearer. "Just remember that we're heading out tonight. You'd better not be late."

Vivian lifts her chin silently and he rolls his eyes at the stubborn set of her jaw. A moment later, he's releasing a frustrated breath and turning on his heel, exiting the common room without another word. She waits until he disappears before dropping her chin and continuing to her dormitory.

Adrian's words follow her as she shuts the door behind her and stares into the familiar room. A strange sensation overcomes her as she takes in the sight of the emerald drapes and hastily made beds. It's the sort of feeling that one has when they realize how quickly life changes, when Fate comes hurtling towards you and alters the course of your path. Sometimes you don't even realize that it's been altered at all. Fate works by degrees. It bends the road before you so slightly that you don't notice the curvature until you've already started walking down it, and by the time you realize it, it's too late to go back. You've taken one too many steps; changed too much to return to the you that existed in the times before.

Sometimes change isn't obvious. Sometimes it's as quiet and as subtle as the opening of a symphony, when the violins rise up so tenderly that you feel the sound caress the parts of you that you hadn't even realized were there; the empty room in your heart that you hadn't known was hollow, until that moment. And it fills you like a great wave that rises up in an ocean, gaining height and speed until it is so tall that, when it hits you, it utterly devastates you. It makes you realize that there is no way to return to the person you once were. You have changed too much. You are different, now.

It's not always so bad, being different. The challenge does not lie in the maturity that you have gained or the opportunities that you have taken. You are not upset that you are stronger, or wiser, or older. The reason for the devastation is because you know that you can never return to all the other aspects of your life. The things that, at the time, hadn't seemed so very important. The things you took for granted. It is only when you have lost them do you see how important they were, but by then, the path has been blocked and you can't go backwards.

You realize all the times you had deprived yourself of what you need. All the things you had denied yourself, because you were too busy clinging to the path you have always walked on to notice that it had shifted just so. Fate is not responsible for making sure that you are paying attention. It doesn't care how you move forward, only that you do.

Her fingers are shaking when she kneels down in front of her trunk and pulls out the stack of letters buried deep within. Oh, but it had been cruel of her, to give that box to Sirius. A vengeful Slytherin is a loose cannon. Anger is the one thing that can cloud their judgement, but even in the midst of her fury, she hadn't been able to actually burn the letters. A year ago, she wouldn't have hesitated, but she is different now.

So _does_ Vivian Blair actually believe that Sirius's apology was little more than a prank?

'_Vivian, I do declare_

_That even Venus can't compare_

_To your beauty that does capture me _

_Like a thousand shooting stars._

_For even in the moon's embrace,_

_Your countenance is not erased_

_Before you, even Heaven dims;_

_You're more beauteous by far.'_

Well, the problem is not that Vivian doesn't see the truth when it is staring at her in the face. The problem is that her path has been curved once again, and she isn't sure she can go back to the version of herself that had existed within Sirius Black's arms.


	55. Ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt

**Chapter Fifty Five | Ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt**

**[Fate leads the willing soul, but drags along the unwilling one]**

Vivian Blair wouldn't claim to have courage in droves. Her version of bravery does not run hot within her veins. It is not a warm sun that shines down upon her world, setting the horizon afire in its efforts to blaze a course through her many conflicts. No, if she would have to compare her courage to anything, it would be like the full moon that rises within the sky even now, hidden every once in a while by clouds that obscure it entirely. It's cold and elusive and it doesn't always seem as if it is there at all.

"Hurry up, Adrian. I thought you said we were on a schedule," Vivian mutters as she pulls her cloak tighter around her frame. Her fingers are clenched around her wand and have been ever since they had left the safety of the castle. There is something wicked afoot that hangs heavy in the air, making her instincts flare up as she walks stiffly through the streets of Hogsmeade. Behind her, Mulciber hazards a glance at the others and shrugs. Perhaps he doesn't feel it like she does, or perhaps he is already so accustomed to it that he no longer feels its presence at all.

The streets are empty and eerily silent, and the group passes through them without notice. Besides her and Mulciber, Lucius has accompanied them, and he has brought Rosier, Snape, and Regulus. Vivian is naturally a bit annoyed that the others have decided to tag along like this, but perhaps their presence will take most of the attention off of her. She hadn't complained overmuch when they had all gathered together in the Slytherin common room earlier that night, though she had made a few snarky comments about Regulus's presence.

"_He's a sixth year, anyway. It's not as if he'll be able to join the Dark Lord yet,"_ she had drawled, spearing Regulus with a sharp look.

Lucius had shrugged and responded, _"We're all graduating soon. He'll need someone within the castle to keep an eye on things."_

He hadn't said anything more on the subject, but he hadn't really needed to. His silent inference had been enough: Regulus will most likely be joining a lot earlier than any of them expected, if only to become an inside source of information during the next year. The thought had been conflicting, but Vivian is past trying to make him change his mind and hadn't bothered responding. If Regulus wants to sell his soul, then there's nothing she can do to stop him.

Her relationship with the younger Black brother has been incredibly tense as of late. Since dropping Sirius's secret, Regulus seems to have decided to make himself a bit scarce around her, during the day anyway. He no longer seeks her out in the Great Hall or walks with her to prefect meetings, though the latter could simply be because Vivian hasn't actually attended a prefect meeting in some time. Point is though, that Regulus has made it clear that kindling a friendship with Vivian is no longer in his best interest, which is altogether conflicting in its own right. If only he could see what Vivian sees, then perhaps she'd be able to save him.

It will take some years before that happens, though, and besides, saving Regulus Black isn't nearly as important as saving herself.

A hand suddenly wraps itself around her elbow, and Vivian turns to look at Adrian, who is looking into a darkened alley between two shops. Vivian vaguely recognizes them as Gladrags and Scrivenshaft's, but since everything is so dark, she can't be completely certain. She turns her gaze to follow Mulciber's and sees the dull sheen of something deep within the shadows. A moment later, a figure emerges from the dark depths; a silent sentinel awaiting their presence.

"Is that Rabastan?" she whispers to Adrian, who glances down at her blankly.

For a long moment, he just stares at her, his hand wrapped solidly around her arm, and then…

"We're meeting Bellatrix and a few of the others in the forest behind the village. He's probably here to led us to them," he responds to her. Then, much to her surprise, his touch falls from her elbow to her hand, and a moment later he's clasping their fingers together as he guides her forward. She doesn't miss the sharp glance he sends Rabastan as they approach, nor the amused smirk that etches over Rabastan's face as he blinks back.

"I don't need you to protect me," she mutters at him, assuming that this is just some tactic to assert his masculinity or some such thing. Still, it would be a lie to claim that she'd rather pull away from him entirely. She doesn't like Adrian, but right now she'll take whatever small comfort is afforded to her, if it will help to convince herself that she is brave after all.

At her side, Mulciber scoffs and just mutters, "You know, just once it'd be nice if you weren't such a cow to me."

Vivian rolls her eyes and mumbles, "It's so hard _not_ to be, though."

He makes a sound beneath his breath that sounds like it's a mix between another scoff and a laugh, and says, "We'd make a good team if you'd stop being so stubborn about it."

She decides not to respond to that, mainly because she's not sure what she'd say anyway. Perhaps they would make a good team, if her heart was truly aligned with the Dark Lord's vision, but she dares not make mention of those thoughts. Not now, and perhaps not ever.

As Rabastan leads them through the alley and they begin their trek beyond the village parameters, it's all too easy to imagine that she may never get the chance to mention all of those things. After all, the darkness is so empowering and the atmosphere so eclipsed that it seems as if they are walking down a path that has no end to it. That's the scariest part of all, really: not that she can't go backwards, but that she may end up being forced to walk this path for all of eternity.

Eternity. Yes, that is a frightful, unfathomable concept. Life is too short to truly grasp the notion of forever, but every once in a while you are filled with a thought of what it might be like, if perhaps the world turned just so on its axis and life as we knew it shifted to accommodate such things. Vivian is filled with that thought now, as she approaches a group of darkly hooded figures who linger between the trees just outside the village, but it isn't a thought that brings relief or happiness.

No, she thinks of whether she might live in the same eternal darkness as these figures. If the path she is on now truly has no end to it at all. Perhaps she will be forced to spend her whole life on it. Perhaps it will even drag her to the pits of hell, once that life is over.

The thought makes her clench her jaw and tighten her hand around Adrian's, searching for the last dregs of comfort that might reinforce her courage. But it's such a fleeting thing. It disappears with every bluster of wind that moves the clouds across the sky, shrouding it from view just when she needs it.

"My sweet, sweet Vivian," Bellatrix croons. She steps forward and throws her hood back, revealing a mass of curly black hair. The manic sheen of her eyes doesn't entirely match up with her dulcet voice, nor the mad laugh she releases when she reaches out to take Vivian's shoulders.

"You have made the right choice," she whispers to her, so overcome with happiness that it lends a deranged cadence to her words. Her grip is tight and clawing. Her smile lurches its way into madness.

Vivian doesn't smile back, because she doesn't think she can, but thankfully Bellatrix doesn't appear to care. She merely sends Bellatrix a nod and focuses on holding her head high.

"We don't have much time," Rabastan drawls from behind his sister-in-law; a cold reminder.

Bellatrix straightens up and murmurs, "Of course." Then, turning back to Vivian, she whispers, "The Dark Lord is pleased with you, Vivian, but your task isn't complete until we test your creation out properly."

It's only then that Vivian notices that one of the figures is kneeling down on the forest floor, covered in a dark cloak but thus far unmoving. When Bellatrix steps out of her line of vision, she sees everything she had missed, before.

A cold trickle of unease slowly moves through her. It is like her veins have been filled with shards of ice, coalescing and crystalizing until she can no longer move. She stands there and stares as Rabastan moves forward to pull the hood off, and when her eyes lock onto a living, breathing human, the ice locks together and forms an immovable force within her.

"Fortunately, we have found a willing participant," Bellatrix says, smiling in an almost loving manner at the nameless face. It's obvious that the man has been put under an immobilizing spell, for even though his eyes are wide with terror, he doesn't even flinch when Bellatrix clenches her fingers into his hair and drags his head back. That he is a 'willing participant' is most definitely a stretch of the truth.

The hand that is gripping her wand tightens so hard that her knuckles blanch. Vivian tears her eyes away from the nameless man and stares at Bellatrix, who is studying her as she stands over the man. When their eyes clash, Bellatrix smiles and pats the man's cheek. "Now is the moment for you to prove your allegiance, Vivian. Kill the muggle and secure your place amongst us."

Vivian would have been a fool to come all the way and not have expected something like this. She thought she had prepared herself for the blend of darkness that she knew awaited her, but she clearly hadn't anticipated that she'd be asked to become a murderer. Given the nature of her spell, she should have. Bellatrix would never hand over a spell that isn't fully tested. Her position in the Dark Lord's ranks means far too much to her.

"The spell works," Vivian says. Her voice is hoarse; it rattles from her throat and twists her words into a shaking resemblance of what they ought to be. She swallows around the lump in her throat and says, clearer this time, "We've already tested it."

She half expects Adrian to jump in and make some remark about how they tested it on an _animal,_ not a human, but he remains silent at her side.

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow at her, looking a shade more doubtful now. "I wish to see it for myself. If it doesn't work, the Dark Lord will be…upset." It's clear that he'll be a little more than simply upset, from the way Bellatrix's eyes flash. She looks at Vivian and says, "Do it. Bloody your hands for us, Vivian." Her mouth curls up manically.

Vivian swallows again and turns her gaze to the muggle. He looks absolutely terrified. The only sound that escapes him are the heavy breaths that struggle to leave his immobilized form.

The path to hell is made easy on purpose. It is a downward decline riddled with decisions that the weak of heart do not think too hard upon. It is made up of two words that take only moments to say. What is a moment in the grand scheme of life? What is a word?

But is life not made up of moments that build, one atop the other, into days and years and decades? That is the beauty and the dread of eternity. A single misstep will remove whatever end awaits you and send you hurtling forever forward. And of course you can be forgiven if you catch yourself soon enough, but it is difficult to stop the fall. Once you begin, it is all the harder to stop.

What is the difference, though? Vivian had come here to hand over her spell. Is that not the same as murder? Vivicendium is only one word, but it paves the way to that eternity just the same. Perhaps this is why our souls will be judged and weighed by the one who is greater than ourselves; for humans blur the lines without always trying, in their attempts to right the many wrongs that they unwittingly create.

Adrian clenches her hand tightly and she draws in a breath. The ice is melting from her veins now, but she isn't sure what's replacing it. All she knows is that, without it, she feels shaky and faint.

She lifts her wand and points it at the man. Her eyes lock with his, but she can't hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. The fear in his eyes makes her gut clench with nausea, so she drops her eyes to his chest instead, knowing that if she were to look away entirely, Bellatrix would see it as a sign of weakness – and if she were to refuse altogether, well…

The path to hell is smooth and even, and Bellatrix would sooner drag her down it herself than watch her turn away.

Self-preservation is a cold, cold thing.

"…Avada," she breathes; the first word.

She doesn't get to utter the second, though, because in the brief pause that elapses as she takes in a breath, someone else takes over.

"_Avada Kedavra,"_ Regulus Black says, and a moment later, a burst of green light erupts from his wand and slams into the muggle's chest, killing him instantly.

All of them turn to stare at him, including a very shaky, very bewildered Vivian. Her eyes lock with his. There is iron there, within the grey, illuminated by the full moon's light. Iron that strengthens into steel when Bellatrix angrily releases the muggle man and hisses, _"She was_ to do it. _She _was – "

Vivian quickly waves her wand at the still-warm corpse and murmurs her spell beneath her breath, hoping that it will distract Bellatrix from her rage. She's still reeling with shock at Regulus's sudden move, so much so that she hardly even hears herself mutter the spell at all. But once murmured, it does indeed distract Bellatrix.

As the muggle begins to rise, the attention moves away from Regulus. Bellatrix turns to watch, eyes wide and wild as the man surges to his feet and lifts his chin. A flash of cognizance puckers through his gaze, which he turns to Vivian; his mistress. The deadened stare makes the nauseous feeling return at full force, but Vivian swallows back the shakiness to instead demand, "Come."

The muggle comes. His gait is sure and strong. He lurches forward the moment the order leaves her lips, and stops only when he is standing before her. Behind him, Bellatrix releases a mad, cackling laugh.

Bile rises up within Vivian but she swallows that back too, and hoarsely orders, "Kneel."

The muggle kneels immediately, without hesitation, without question. He is little more than a husk to be ordered about. Free will is not a luxury possessed by the dead. They have no need of it.

Vivian keeps her eyes trained upon the grotesque gaze of her creation. Its filmy white eyes stare back unblinkingly, awaiting another order. She grants one.

"…You will accompany Bellatrix and do everything she commands," Vivian murmurs. Her voice is clearer than she thinks it ought to be, considering what she has just done. Perhaps she is in a state of subdued shock, and her mind has not fully comprehended the first step she has just taken down the road to hell.

Bellatrix laughs again. It's an unhinged sound, and it grows even more so when the Inferi stands and turns to her. She sounds perfectly insane when she orders, "Kiss the dirt, muggle. Grovel in it."

Vivian swallows yet again when the man immediately obeys, falling to his knees once more and then bowing his body down to the soil. The action is as demeaning as it gets, and even though the man is dead and his soul is hopefully somewhere safe, she feels another wave of nausea hit her hard in the chest. This time it is accompanied with clawing, drowning guilt. Guilt, so much guilt that she has to hold her breath around the blistering flood of it.

She has done this. It is her doing. Hers, and…she glances over at Regulus, only to find that he's already staring at her. There is a look in his eyes that she cannot identify. It is dark and painful, almost. After all, he has just become a murderer for her.

It is only the first moment on Regulus Black's path to hell; only the first time that he will bloody his hands for Vivian Blair. The first stroke of Fate is always the longest; the first chime is the most resounding. Neither of them knows it yet, but it will not be the last. There will be many more chimes, and many more steps down this smooth, dark road in their attempt to find its end.

"The Dark Lord will be very happy, Vivian," Bellatrix croons as she watches the muggle bow into the dirt before her. "Yes, very happy."

Vivian tears her eyes away from Regulus and swallows again. She doesn't respond. She's not sure she can. So, instead, she smiles, and hopes that through the haze of Bellatrix's madness, it looks genuine. But far up in the sky, the clouds have shrouded the moon again, and her attempt matters not, for the darkness washes it away.

* * *

Her shock wears off on her way back to the castle. This is probably the most inopportune time for a panic attack, because of one simple fact. See, Vivian Blair's courage is like the full moon that sits high in the night sky even now.

She had managed to escape Adrian and the others, who had wanted to linger in the clearing for as long as they could, to hear more of the Dark Lord's plans. If she was more composed she would have done the same, if only to prepare herself for the next step into hell, but her nausea and her guilt is so overpowering that she had excused herself before the others. Bellatrix had allowed it. She had been too pleased with Vivian's success to question the hastiness of her exit, and had merely waved her off before turning to the others. And so Vivian is now fleeing across the grounds of Hogwarts and experiencing something that she has never experienced before: full-fledged panic.

Her mind is churning out images of filmy white eyes flashing into hers. She hardly even sees where she is walking, hardly feels the chill of the night air bite against her skin, hardly knows anything but the fact that she has just sold her soul. Had she? Yes, she thinks so. There is no going back, now. She cannot move backwards.

But how she wishes she could! She feels removed from herself, as a ship struck out to sea. The waters are calm but it hardly matters, because she has lost the oars and cannot move. Were it that the waters were not calm, so that she might at least be pushed in some other direction!

But Jane Austen once said, "seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken," and though Vivian cannot go entirely backwards, she can at the very least turn her course to the side. After all, Fate will on occasion make allowances for those who are strong enough to wrangle it into submission. That's the thing about being human. We can be extraordinarily innovative where it concerns our own destinies. We are all of us selfish at heart. When we think that something is in our best interest, we do not hesitate to secure it.

Sirius Black is selfish, too. On this, the night of the full moon, he is very selfish indeed.

Vivian doesn't see, at first, because she has withdrawn into herself to such an extent that even the ground before her is blurry at best. She doesn't yet realize that the blurriness is in part due to the tears that are streaking down her cheeks. Her shock subdues her. Grief, in whatever form it comes, has the tendency of doing that.

It is as she's making her way across the grounds, blazing a path towards the castle, that an eerie howl splits through the night air. It is a rupture of sound that not even Vivian, in her current state, can ignore. She lifts her head to look around. The full moon is veiled by thick clouds, which is the other reason why she doesn't see the figure that is hurtling towards her. Well, not until the golden eyes are mere meters away, of course. With a shuttered gasp, she trips backwards, the way she had come – just as a tall, proud stag thunders in front of her.

At first she thinks she dreaming, but the reality is too tangible for that, and the lines that she had missed, before, connect together now with startling clarity. She lifts her eyes to the antlers and thinks: Prongs.

Padfoot.

Wormtail.

…Moony.

As this final realization slams into her, a pair of hands grab her shoulders and she is suddenly being spun around. Reality blurs, and then resettles, and she finds herself looking up into Sirius's stormy grey eyes.

"What are you _doing_ out here?" he demands angrily, but doesn't have time to wait for her response, because Moony is howling with furious intent as he tries to push Prongs out of the way. The stormy eyes turn a shade more fearful as Sirius takes Vivian's hand and begins to pull her towards the castle. Moony growls angrily behind them.

"Of all the…nights you had to…go roaming around the grounds!" Sirius gasps as he runs, dragging her alongside him. She's too shocked to try to stop him. Her heart is slamming against her ribcage, now beating with more than just horror and guilt. Fear, thick and clawing, settles there too.

Remus is a werewolf. _That's_ why the Marauders are all animagi – because werewolves don't typically go after animals. The missing pieces come together too late. She's not sure which is stronger: the incredible weight that lays upon her shoulders upon creating an Inferi, or the skittish shock from realizing the Remus Lupin isn't fully human. It all makes sense now, but there are just so many thoughts pulling apart her mind that it's difficult to focus on just one. So, instead, she focuses on something else entirely.

Sirius's hand is warm in hers, and he's here with her, and he's not abandoning her, and –

"You're an absolute idiot!" he exclaims breathlessly as he hauls her forward.

He's just as he ought to be, really. Just as she wants him to be.

"What are you even doing, anyway? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he angrily rambles as he drags her up the steps to the castle. He casts a glance over his shoulder to see if Moony and Prongs are still nearby, but they seem to have disappeared, perhaps into the Forbidden Forest. They're both breathing hard from running and his hand is holding hers a little too tightly, and he's angry and he cares and that's why Vivian ends up releasing a gasping breath and throwing her arms around him.

The force knocks him back, but it takes him less than a second to haul her closer, because even though he's angry he still loves her. Merlin, he does. He buries her against him and turns his head into her hair, inhaling the faintest hint of vanilla as she shakes into his body. He's never seen her like this before. He doesn't know what else to do other than hold her, but that's okay. Now that she's in his arms again, he never wants to let her go.

Something is rising between them: words that are not voiced and moments perilously built one on top of the other. A tentative quality stirs the air, made up of all those words that aren't spoken: three, this time, that could pave the way to other summits. They are skyward-bound. They could take her off the path to hell, if she only had the courage to say them. But courage is for the lion-hearted adventurers, and she is no lion, not really.

There is something breakable to her. It is construed of human flaws; imperfections so exquisite that all he can do is stare at her as his breath catches in his throat. And then –

She breathes out and steps back, and walks away without a word. For a moment, Sirius stares blindly into the darkness, and then follows.

"Vivian," he calls. The worried anger has left him. His voice is little more than a hoarse croak.

Vivian doesn't stop, so Sirius hurries after her. He catches her arm as she's turning the corner past the Great Hall and pulls her back around to face him, brows furrowed with concern. Now that the shock of seeing her in front of Moony has worn off, all he can think about is why she had been outside to begin with. What had made her break the one rule that Dumbledore had given her? What had made her leave the safety of Hogwarts? It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, especially considering the dread that is thundering through her eyes.

He studies her expression for a long moment, hardly even conscious of the fact that this is the first time they have been alone together for some time now. He's too distracted by the fear and the guilt that cuts across her face.

"What did you do?" he whispers.

He already knows the answer, really, but he needs to hear her say it.

Finally, she lifts her eyes to his, and raises her chin. "Sirius," she says, "let me go."

They both know that her words hold more meaning than a desire to return to the Slytherin common room.

He immediately shakes his head and staunchly replies, "It's not too late."

She feels impatience rattle through her, just enough to smother the urge to curl herself against him again. "It is," she laughs humorlessly, mind flashing with the memory of filmy white eyes. "Voldemort has it, now. The spell. Or, at least he will before the night is over."

Sirius exhales and shuffles closer. His voice is a breath when he replies, "So what? He doesn't have _you, _and that's all I care about."

Vivian reaches up to clench her fingers into his shirt. She's unsure if she means to pull him towards her or push him back. Her mind is spinning and she can't focus.

"This is bigger than us," she tells him.

Sirius shakes his head again. "Only if you let it be."

She almost smiles at that. She never would have thought that she'd find his stubbornness so endearing.

"I don't want to let it," she admits, clenching her fingers tighter. The 'but' at the end of her sentence hangs heavily in the air. They both hear it, resounding through the spaces between them like leaden weights.

Sirius inhales shakily and steps forward again, and even though she had meant to push him away, she doesn't. "Then don't," he whispers to her.

He feels chaos within him, smoldering, murky – sinking down like a ship into unexplored depths, tearing through the void of that great ocean. It sinks and sinks, and he sinks with it. He leans in and presses his forehead against hers, and for a moment, they only breathe. Then Sirius closes the remainder of the distance and presses his mouth against hers.

Vivian breathes in deeply and, against her better judgement, she kisses him back. She thinks it would be impossible not to, when his lips are so soft and his body so warm. And besides, kissing him distracts her from what she has just done. With his arms around her, she stops thinking about those white filmy eyes and bolts of green light.

He gathers her close, circling his arms around her waist and pulling her into him. One hand lifts to cup her cheek. His fingertips trail fire over her skin, but it is nothing like forest fires or infernos. No, this is only Sirius, and only Vivian, and that is all it needs to be. For a time, anyway, until –

"Vivian_. What are you doing,"_ Adrian Mulciber seethes, and with a startled gasp, Vivian finally pushes Sirius away and turns to see Mulciber standing several paces away. The others are with him, sending Vivian varying expressions of disgust and surprise. Clearly, none of them had expected to see her kissing Sirius Black, of all people. Well, except one. Regulus's expression isn't disgusted or surprised. His eyes are blazing with mild panic, actually, as he turns his gaze from Vivian to Adrian.

Sirius exhales sharply and pulls away, shuffling back just far enough to reach for his wand. "What does it _look_ like she's doing?" he demands. He straightens his spine, eyes hardening as he stares Mulciber down with every shred of Gryffindor stubbornness that he possesses.

Vivian turns to stare at Regulus, her eyes reflecting the same panic that resides in his. She doesn't know why she looks to him – maybe it's because he had just bloodied his hands for her – but she feels a fledging hope burgeon through her, that he might step in and diffuse the situation before it can come to blows. It's probably foolish of her, though, considering how thoroughly angry Adrian Mulciber is.

"It looks like she's snogging a _disgusting blood traitor,"_ Mulciber growls, and draws out his wand.

Sirius grits his teeth. His eyes flash with more of that Gryffindor courage. He looks like he's seconds away from lifting his wand and hexing Adrian where he stands, so Vivian hurries to grab his wrist. Sirius glances over at her, looking slightly confused. Until, of course, one look at the panic in her eyes makes the confusion blaze over into determination.

"Vivian can make up her own mind on who she wants to snog," Sirius says loudly, lifting his chin to stare at Mulciber with hard eyes.

Mulciber's anger takes an immediate turn into fury at this. He steps forward, only for Regulus to grab his arm. He says something in a low voice to Adrian, who doesn't appear to want to listen. That much is obvious when, a moment later, Adrian glares at Vivian and sneers, "How long have you been messing around with him, then?"

Vivian opens her mouth to respond to this, but it's Sirius who angrily growls, "Not that it's any of your business, but I'd reckon a lot longer than you realized, seeing as you're such an unintelligent troll – "

"Sirius," Vivian hisses.

"No, it's fine, Vivian," Adrian sneers. "I probably deserved that, seeing as you've been making a fool out of me for months now."

Sirius snorts. "You don't need anyone's help with that, Mulciber."

Adrian doesn't even seem to hear him, though. He has eyes only for Vivian, and right now, the expression in them looks absolutely thunderous. "I wonder what your father would say about this. Or the Dark Lord, for that matter."

Mention of the Dark Lord makes the ice return to her veins. She wrangles it back and scorns, "Oh please. As if Voldemort cares who I snog. You're just upset that I don't want to kiss _you."_

Sirius smirks and adds, "I doubt _anyone_ would."

Vivian elbows him to shut up and sneers, "If I want to kiss the blood traitor, then I will. It doesn't have to mean anything."

This actually does make Sirius shut up, of course. He turns to gape at her in shock, looking miffed. She ignores him and just crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow at Mulciber.

Adrian stares stonily at her and growls, "You're not getting out of this so easily, Blair. You've got to be a complete idiot if you think I'm going to turn a blind eye."

Vivian sends him a sharp, amused look. "Why, because you still think that I'm _actually_ going to marry you? If anyone's a complete idiot, it's you."

Adrian lifts his chin a notch and coolly replies, "You know our marriage is nothing more than a contract, Blair. You can't just waltz out of it."

She laughs and drawls, "Watch me."

Sirius crosses his arms and does exactly that. The wildfire is back and it's absolutely gorgeous. Well, he's still a bit annoyed that she had called him a blood traitor, but he'll take what he can get. This definitely beats her ignoring him.

"You're making a huge mistake," Adrian tells her. His voice is dark and furious, swept through with anger.

Vivian swallows around the trepidation lurching through her and responds, "Marrying you would be a bigger one."

A strange thing happens when a Slytherin's anger becomes great enough. Perhaps the way they freeze over has something to do with their desire to always stay one step ahead; to keep their weaknesses hidden so as to succeed. Their expressions turn so cold that it is impossible to figure out what they are thinking. There is a certain guardedness to that expression; an ambiguity meant to confuse and bewilder. Adrian's expression is quickly transforming into such a thing, and Vivian, as a Slytherin herself, understands what it means.

It means that he's so angry, all bets are off. It means that he isn't going to let this go, but like a true and proper Slytherin, he won't be predictable about pursuing vengeance. No, like a true Slytherin, he will strike when and where it brings the most pain, and only when she's least expecting it.

"Well then," he coolly says, his voice like ice. "I suppose I wouldn't want someone whose been tainted by this piece of scum anyway." He hazards a scornful glance at Sirius, who clenches his jaw tightly at the insult. Adrian sneers and sends Vivian one final, cold stare before continuing on his way.

Sirius probably would have thrown a curse at him, if Vivian doesn't grab his wand and pluck it out of his hands. He's so surprised at her action that he turns to stare at her, looking altogether conflicted about going after Mulciber and giving him a piece of his mind – with or without his wand.

"Stop it, Sirius," Vivian snaps at him. "You're going to make things worse."

Sirius's mouth drops open. _"I'm_ going to make things worse? What about _you?"_

She glowers at him and shoves his wand into his chest. As he fumbles to catch it, she scoffs, "If you hadn't been outside tonight none of this would have happened."

He narrows his eyes at her. _"You're_ the one who shouldn't have been outside. Plus it's not _my_ fault that Mulciber follows you around these days."

She narrows her eyes too, and hisses, "Whatever, just leave me alone," before turning on her heel and storming off. Sirius watches her go with stormy eyes, reeling from everything that's just happened.

Vivian is reeling too, but it isn't only because of Sirius Black. She's reeling from everything that has transpired since she had found out that Sirius was writing her those poems. Every mistake she's made since then now seems to pull at her mind, blustering like a hurricane – unhinged, chaotic – twisting through every emotion and desire that rattles at her every thought. She's a Slytherin. She's supposed to be one step ahead, but she feels as if she's been thrown into such disarray that she'll never be able to succeed. She storms through the darkened hallways as if she's on fire, but the emotion that drives her isn't anger.

She just wants this year to be over. She wants –

Well, she wants a lot of things, really, but most of all she wants to be able to move forward without feeling as if she is moving in the wrong direction. She wants to not be afraid of choosing her own path. She wants to be braver.

But see, it is often the people that do not view themselves as being brave who are the very bravest of all.

Vivian Blair can be brave if only she tries. After all, she has a Gryffindor heart, and it _is_ made of fire - whether she knows it or not.


	56. Facta non Verba

**Chapter Fifty Six | Facta non Verba**

**[Deeds, not words]**

Vivian Blair is a difficult person to talk to alone. To say that she has made herself scarce over the next few weeks would be an understatement, and it is only because James Potter happens to be in possession of the Marauder's Map that he is able to corner her during one of the few moments in which she is by herself.

Well, sort of.

"Ah…I've always loved the library," James sighs, sitting down at the table in which Vivian has occupied. "It's so dreary and eerily quiet, don't you think?" he wonders as he makes a show of getting several of his textbooks out. He noisily set his inkwell down and hums beneath his breath as he roots through his bag in search of a quill. When he doesn't find one, he frowns and turns to Vivian to loudly ask, "Can I borrow a quill, Pride?"

He would have to be a blind idiot not to see the way Vivian is looking at him with murder flashing through her eyes. Thankfully, though, James is neither blind nor an idiot (though he does occasionally pretend to be both, in situations such as these) and merely smiles at her expectantly. If he notices the way her eyebrow is twitching, well, he pretends not to.

"What do you want?" Vivian growls at him, when it's clear that he isn't going to leave until he accomplishes whatever it is he had set out to do. As for what, exactly, that is, she can only guess. One can never quite tell, with James Potter.

James blinks at her. "A _quill_, Pride, a quill," he repeats with a raised eyebrow, looking at her as if he thinks she's insane.

Vivian stares at him for a long moment, then shuts her book, leans forward, and hisses, "Stop pretending to be an idiot and tell me what you want."

James sighs at her, but drops the act and just murmurs, "Fine. I want to make sure you know not to talk about Moony's situation. And also to ask if you're alright, since you've been avoiding us and I haven't had the chance."

Vivian stares at him for another long moment before pursing her mouth. In a low voice, she responds, "I won't tell anyone about him. He's the only one in your lot that I have even the smallest amount of respect for."

There's something in the tone of her voice that has James pausing, studying her closely as he sits there. It's disparaging and bitter and it makes him feel as if he ought to say something, because she's obviously got quite a few things wrong. As the leader of the Marauders, James understands how important it is to ensure that all of his fellows, Official and Honorary alike, are in agreement with each other. Trust is essential when one is a pranking ne'er-do-well, you see, and Pride is clearly in a _distrusting_ state.

"You know…Padfoot only wrote the first few poems as a prank," he tells her suddenly, catching her eye. "The rest were entirely genuine, though he would never have admitted it."

Vivian lifts her chin and drawls, "And…?"

James frowns. "And he's been miserable lately. He misses you."

She purses her lips again.

"Look, Pride – "

"Don't call me that."

" – Padfoot is too stubborn to tell you this himself, so it falls to me – "

"Even though it's none of your business."

" – to inform you that he's been going out of his mind and it's honestly driving me insane."

Vivian scoffs and mutters, "As if you weren't already." She gathers her half-written assignment and shoves it into her bag, intent on leaving before Potter can say anything else.

Before she can, though, he reaches out to grab her wrist and murmurs, "Just – give him another chance, Vivian. Please."

Vivian glances over at him. His eyes are pleading and solemn. His face is set in an expression that is entirely too serious. It's unnatural, really, which makes his words hit home all the harder. She sighs, and glances around to see if anyone is watching them. Thankfully, the library happens to be full of Ravenclaws this afternoon. With NEWT examinations only a few weeks away, they are far too busy immersing themselves into their studies to bother wondering why Vivian Blair is talking to James Potter.

"It's not that simple," she mutters to him once she decides that it is safe to linger for a moment longer. "This doesn't even have to do with Sirius or the poems. Not entirely, anyway."

James's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

She sends him an impatient look. "I'm sure he told you about the spell," she prompts. After all, Sirius tells James everything, doesn't he? The pair of them are like adolescent teenage girls, gossiping back and forth at all hours of the day.

James clears his throat quietly and nods, hazarding a glance at her as if he thinks she'll be angry that he knows. Instead, though, Vivian merely studies him for a moment longer before murmuring, "Sirius would be better off with someone who doesn't put his life in danger."

Now. Vivian Blair is known for a lot of things. To those who don't know her very well, she's seen as someone who is prideful, haughty, and occasionally rude, who enjoys scaring younger students by use of hex-threats. To those who know her fairly well, she is known to be someone who is in fact a bit difficult to understand unless she wants you to (a typical Slytherin trait), and who doesn't enjoy hexing younger students so much as learning about ways to do so, should the need ever arise (yet another Slytherin trait). Those that know her very well know that she does indeed have kindness within her, and the desire to do good every once in a while (though too much of a good thing is a bad thing, in her opinion), and isn't quite as stand-offish as she outwardly appears. However, never once has anyone ever considered Vivian Blair to be a selfless person. She herself would never claim to be, and would in fact be slightly irked if anyone tried to make her out to be more generous than she truly is. So when James hears her say this, he is rightfully shocked.

"You – what?" he splutters, and stares at her as if she is a stranger to him.

Vivian raises an eyebrow at him. "I said that Sirius would be – "

"Yes, I know what you said. I just can't believe it," James cuts in, looking quite miffed. "I mean, it's so unnatural for you to think about someone else like this."

Her eyebrow twitches again.

"Usually you're so focused on what _you_ want, you know? It's actually one of the things I meant to talk to you about concerning your Honorary Maraudership – something to work on, if you will – "

She begins to scowl.

"But besides all that, I think Sirius can make up his own mind, don't you?" James finishes, finally looking over at her. When he sees her expression, he tilts his head musingly. "What's wrong? Was it something I said?"

Vivian rolls her eyes at him. She grabs her things and mutters, "Just stay out of my business, Potter." And with that, she marches off.

James sighs after her.

* * *

Vivian would be lying to herself if she said that James's words don't follow her for the rest of the day. Then again, a lot of things seem to haunt her these days, and what with everything else going on, it's rather difficult for her to focus on any one thing. NEWTs are coming closer with every passing week. Graduation is only a month or so away. Things that used to matter to her don't matter very much anymore. She's skipped the last few Quidditch practices, much to Avery's ire, and can't even remember the last prefect meeting she had attended. Gavin's been trying to talk to her about it, but she's been avoiding him.

Truth is, every time she closes her eyes, she sees that muggle bowing low over the ground, groveling in front of Bellatrix as he had been ordered to do. She can't escape the memory of that night, even though she tries to by throwing herself back into her school work. She's taken to spending late nights in the common room, books spread out around her as she struggles to catch up on assignments that she had either missed entirely or are due imminently. Of course, none of the professors will accept late work, but she's hoping that the effort might put her back into their good graces.

As for Adrian, he has kept to himself, mostly, which she reckons is probably not a good sign. The thing about Slytherins is that they don't like being predictable, especially where it concerns matters of revenge. After the first week goes by without incident, Vivian suspects that Adrian's version of revenge will follow this same pattern. She half expects to receive a letter from her father regarding her refusal to keep to the marriage contract, but much to her surprise, when she does receive a letter from him, it does not mention Adrian at all – well, at least not about her refusal.

It arrives one morning several weeks after the incident. Vivian is in the middle of fixing herself a cup of tea as she peruses the breakfast options. Her back is turned towards the Gryffindor table, as it's been during every meal since that night, and she is making a stellar attempt at ignoring the eyes that she can feel even now, boring into the back of her skull from across the room. If Sirius Black thinks that she's going to turn and catch his eye, he's wrong. Lucius is sitting next to her, Regulus next to him, and Mulciber directly across from her. This current placement hadn't been her idea, but that's the thing about vengeful Slytherins – they like to keep you on your toes.

Even though Adrian hasn't spoken to her that much over the last few weeks, he hasn't made a habit of avoiding her. In fact, his tactics are the exact opposite. He walks with her to classes, sits next to her whenever there's an open seat, and even sometimes does homework with her in the common room. She hasn't asked him why or tried to talk to him during any of these moments, because she already knows what he's trying to do. The dark warning in his eyes when they lock with hers tells her all she needs to know: that he is seeing how far he can push her before she snaps, and he wants her to snap all by herself.

It's a tried but true Slytherin method, really. She's well acquainted with the strategy.

It is as she's spreading some strawberry jam onto a slice of warm toast that the morning post arrives, and with it, Leopold. Her family's owl doesn't appear to have lost any of his usual haughtiness as he flutters down to where she's sitting. If Vivian wasn't so accustomed to the creature's peculiar ways, she wouldn't have the foresight to move her teacup out of the way as the owl drops down in the space it had once been, having absolutely no regard for anything around him. Prideful thing.

Leopold sticks out his leg without preamble, blinking impatiently at her when she takes too long to put her toast down. He hoots at her as if he's telling her to hurry up and narrows his golden eyes in a way that only an owl can do, when they are being particularly irritable.

Vivian narrows her eyes right back and unties the letter from its legs. She's tempted to snarl at it just to give it a scare, but she knows from experience that Leopold will peck at her in retribution if she does.

"Here. Vain bird," she mutters, breaking off a bit of her toast and holding it out for him. Leopold eyes the offering judgmentally. If he could form such an expression, he would surely be sneering at her. He ruffles his wings and ignores the toast entirely, apparently deciding that it is not nearly good enough for him, and then promptly flies off.

Vivian rolls her eyes at the owl before turning her attention to the letter, which bears the Blair seal. She feels Adrian watching her from across the way and nearly decides to read it later, but her impatience wins out in the end. She hasn't heard from her father at all since she had completed her task, so she breaks the seal and opens it.

_Vivian,_

_It has taken me some time to send this letter. There are many matters that take up my time these days, but your mother has been fussing at me to contact you. I am certain that I do not need to tell you this, but He is most pleased with your performance of late. I find myself unable to summon the words to tell you how pleased I am, as well, with your completion of the task set aside for you. Not only is He appeased by your efforts to the cause, but He has also expressed interest in meeting you personally. Vivian, this is an honor of the highest caliber. I am certain that He means to give you other tasks – to utilize your strengths to His benefit. Never before have I been so proud to call you my daughter. You have exalted the Blair name with your compliance. _

_Your mother has been in communication with the Mulcibers regarding your marriage to their son. With your graduation just around the corner, we are making arrangements to push the wedding ahead sooner than originally discussed. Your recent success regarding your task has cultivated within our Lord more than just an interest in meeting you personally, Vivian, but also in accepting you into His inner circle. An earlier wedding would allow you to focus your efforts on serving Him all the more. I am sure that you are quite pleased to hear of this, as Adrian himself has written to me only days ago to inform me of how eager you are to take his hand in marriage, and how blessed he is to be securing himself to a young woman of your stature. I too am quite eager to call him my son, and look forward to – _

Vivian doesn't read the rest, because she is too furious to. Her eyes snap up to Adrian's, who is watching her with subdued glee.

"Is everything alright, Vivian?" he wonders innocently as he takes a sip of pumpkin juice. "Your face is turning an unnatural shade of red."

Vivian clenches her teeth so hard that they grind together. She sits quite still for one long moment before attempting to gather herself. It wouldn't do well to make a scene in the Great Hall. She breathes in deeply and folds up the letter, deciding to wait until later.

Alas, though, later is not good enough for Adrian Mulciber.

"Did I mention that I wrote your father?" he wonders, tapping his chin as if in thought. "It might've slipped my mind. You'll have to forgive me." He smiles at her, though the way his mouth pulls up, it looks more like a sneer.

"…I expected you to write him," Vivian responds in a clipped voice. "It _is_ something you would do, after all. When you don't get your way, you turn into a child and go crying to the adults."

Adrian only hums in response. "I didn't tell him about your vile blood traitor pet, don't worry. I reckon I'll wait and see how you handle the next few weeks before I go that far."

The threat in his voice is almost sweetly given – if one could describe Adrian as sweet, that is. Vivian wouldn't.

Adrian smiles at her again and drawls, "I was the one who asked for the wedding to be pushed forward, though. See, I have a plan that involves ousting you to everyone right there on the alter. Something so public would definitely ruin all your future chances at a good marriage. My family outranks yours, after all."

Adrian's voice doesn't carry any further than their immediate circle, but because he's speaking of the matter in such a public place, it seems to her as if everyone can hear him. They can't, of course – everyone else in the Great Hall are distracted with breakfast and are chattering with their friends, and the noise drowns out Adrian's words completely.

Vivian lifts her chin and drawls back, "I'm not sure why you think that would be such a bad thing. I'm an only child. The Blair inheritance will go to me once my parents are gone, and I'd be quite happy to never marry anyhow."

Adrian laughs at her, shaking his head as if he thinks she's being naïve. In a slow voice, he responds, "Do you really think your father would hand over his entire fortune to a blood traitor? Ever heard of 'legal estrangement', Blair? Your father's greatest flaw is his pride. He'd never allow his name to be dragged through the dirt because of you. He'd sooner throw you out and hand his estate over to the Ministry."

Vivian's shoulders stiffen a touch more.

"It's a little amusing, actually," Adrian drawls, "how similar you are to him. The only reason he's even joined the Dark Lord is because he's afraid that people will think the Blairs aren't as pure as everyone else – and the only reason _you're_ joining is because you're afraid that if you refuse, everyone will realize what a pathetic little coward you are."

She clenches her hand so hard around her father's letter that its pristine edges crumple in on themselves.

"You're both cowards," Adrian murmurs to her. "A disgrace to pureblood society – "

"Shut up, Mulciber," Vivian hisses, reaching for her wand.

"I'm actually looking forward to seeing how far you'll go, once you get disinherited," he smirks. "I imagine you'll turn to unsavory methods to survive, but I – "

Anyone who has never witnessed the sight of two Slytherins going at it will most certainly be unprepared for what happens next. You see, it was mentioned previously that anger is one of the few things that can cloud the judgment of a Slytherin. Some clarification on this matter should be made, however:

If the Slytherin in question keeps his or her wits about them, then they can use their anger in the most quietly vengeful way, to ensure that they bring utter ruination to their opponent. Such a thing can be quite frightful to witness, really, because an angry Slytherin will go to the ends of the earth in their quest to secure their agenda. It is only true and proper fury that clouds the mind of a Slytherin and makes them slip up in one way or another. This can be even more frightful to witness, because a truly angry Slytherin is not a sight often seen, for they are masters of their emotions and very rarely let themselves be mastered by them in turn.

Let it be said, though, that despite the imminent events being rather frightful to the Great Hall at large, Sirius Black personally finds Vivian's next actions to be utterly – well, breathtaking.

See, Slytherins aren't attention-seekers. They prefer to work behind the scenes, administering their justice quietly and efficiently without the hindrance of social etiquette to burden them. So the way Vivian stands up from the table, withdraws her wand, and fires the first hex she can think of at Adrian Mulciber, it is truly a testament to her fury.

Adrian, being a Slytherin himself and quite accustomed to the usual methods of his kind, is not expecting to be hit in the face by the stinging hex, and is therefore unequipped to defend himself. That is not to say that he doesn't retaliate, of course. After a moment spent reeling from the suddenness of it all, Adrian withdraws his wand as well.

"_Stupefy!"_ he growls as his face begins to swell. Because they are so close, his spell very nearly slams right into Vivian – and would have, if she wasn't more prepared for it than Adrian had been.

The entire Great Hall, from student to professor, turns to stare as Vivian promptly knocks the spell away with her wand and, furious, clamors onto the bench and then the table, obviously intent on strangling Mulciber. Or, well, at least making a good attempt to.

Adrian pushes himself away from the table with a yelp and tumbles off the bench. He lands on his back, just barely managing to dodge as another hex is thrown at him. As he scrambles up, his face breaks out into a wide, sneering smile. For, as a Slytherin, he knows just how far he had pushed her to have summoned this brand of fury from Vivian Blair.

"_Incarcerous!"_ Vivian hisses, only for Adrian to laughingly misdirect it.

"You don't like the thought of being disinherited, Blair?" he drawls.

Vivian grits her teeth and grabs a fistful of his shirt, growling, "Once I kill you, being disinherited will be the least of my worries."

Adrian grabs a fistful of her shirt, too, and hisses back, "Go ahead and try, blood traitor."

She shoves her wand into his neck and is about to summon another hex, but – well, given the fact that they are currently in the Great Hall, under the watchful eye of their professors, it can't come as any surprise that said professors finally intercede. Before she can make good on her threat, a sudden force pulls her and Adrian apart, vaulting them both back by several meters, and a loud and furious voice says, "That is enough!"

Dumbledore steps down from the staff table and marches towards them, followed by an unusually stern Slughorn. Vivian doesn't take her eyes off of Mulciber until their Head of House and Headmaster arrive at their sides, and even then, her eyes linger on his, filled with dark threats.

With the entire hall staring at them in subdued shock, Dumbledore says, "Horace, bring them to my office. I will be along shortly." Then he turns to the staff table and shouts, "Professor McGonagall, with me, if you please."

The Deputy Headmistress is already standing. Her mouth is pursed so tightly that her lips form a thin line, and upon being summoned, her eyes flash imperiously at the two students who are now being led out of the hall by their Head of House. She follows after Dumbledore after a brief word with Flitwick, who seems to be in charge of calming down the remainder of the hall in her absence. It is hardly necessary, though, for the Great Hall is so quiet that if a pin were to drop upon its pristine flagstones, it would be heard by every ear.

Yes – breathtaking. Sirius doesn't look away from Vivian until she has marched from the hall, the letter from her father tightly enclosed in her fisted hand, and then…

"Prongs, I'm in love," he sighs, nearly as girlishly as James does whenever his Lilyflower is nearby.

James reaches for his pumpkin juice and merely responds, "Yeah, we figured that out a long time ago, Padfoot."

Remus hums in agreement. Peter merely rolls his eyes.

* * *

Dumbledore is not happy, and if Vivian wasn't still so furious herself, she would admit that the sight of his anger is quite scary. After all, their Headmaster is always so calm and composed. Nothing ever seems to get to him.

The door of his office closes loudly behind them. Slughorn ushers them into the room, his hands on both of their shoulders as he frowns. If Vivian had the mind to, she might also admit that she's never seen her Head of House look quite so angry before, either. He didn't even look this irate when he'd caught her and the Marauders dueling in the hallway that night, months before. His face has turned a frightful shade of plum that holds the barest traces of embarrassment, probably because Adrian and Vivian are both in his house and are under his watchful eye. Or, at least, they're supposed to be.

Dumbledore sweeps up the dais to his desk and takes a seat behind it, peering at them over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. In a stern voice, he says, "Now, I am sure that we would all dearly like to know why you thought it wise to draw your wand on Mr. Mulciber, Vivian. It is an engaging tale, I'm sure."

Professor McGonagall steps over to linger beside the Headmaster's desk. As Deputy Headmistress, her presence is not out of the ordinary, but Vivian feels distinctly uncomfortable speaking in front of her. McGonagall's eyes are quite judgmental as gazes at them, shining with quiet outrage.

"…He was asking for it," Vivian says after a lengthy pause, and shoots a cold glance at Adrian, who blinks back in a calculating manner. "He was speaking about things that he had no right to talk about."

This doesn't seem to be a good enough explanation for Dumbledore. The Headmaster frowns deeply and, in a sharp voice, says, "I'm afraid you will have to explain yourself, Miss Blair."

Vivian looks over at him, sees the solemn way he is peering at her, and flounders. She doesn't really want to talk about her betrothal or her potential disinheritance to Dumbledore, of all people. It's a personal matter and Vivian doesn't make a habit of talking about her private life to anyone, much less him. She knows that she won't be leaving this office until she does, though, so she just purses her lips and grits out, "He was informing me of a plan of his to get me disinherited from my family's estate." She has half a mind to drawl out something insulting to Adrian, but when she sees the way Dumbledore's eyes flash, she decides against it.

"I was only informing her of what _might_ happen if she were to make poor choices," Adrian adds with a shrug. "Vivian jumped to conclusions and attacked me."

"You were _threatening_ me," she bites back.

Adrian opens his mouth to respond, but McGonagall interrupts with a stern, "Enough! Albus, it's clear that this requires a careful approach." She lowers her voice, murmuring something to Dumbledore that the rest of them can't quite hear. Vivian assumes she's making mention of their powerful parents and the potential backlash of administering punishment, because Dumbledore sighs and bows his head as he listens. She watches as he knits his fingers together atop his desk.

"Yes, you are quite right, Minerva," he says after a moment. He looks up at them. "Letters will be sent to your parents and you will both be banned from Quidditch for the remainder of the year. Your prefect badge will be taken from you, Miss Blair. You will both be spending your evenings in detention until – "

"Now wait just a minute!" Slughorn cuts in, looking quite upset. "This is certainly a – a terrible situation, but as their Head of House, I ought to have a say with regards to their punishments – with all due respect, Headmaster, of course – "

"They were _hexing_ each other in front of the _entire_ student body, Horace!" McGonagall rages, turning her sharp eyes to him. "If you ask me, they're lucky they're not being _expelled!"_

Vivian bites the inside of her cheek at this and remains silent. Beside her, Adrian merely crosses his arms and looks entirely unconcerned.

"Yes, and I understand the severity of their actions, of course, but – _Quidditch?"_ Slughorn splutters, his face still a frightful shade of plum.

McGonagall _tsks_ at him. "The Slytherin team has reserve players, Horace, honestly – "

"That is enough," Dumbledore says for the second time today, and the two of them fall silent immediately. He leans back thoughtfully, though his eyes are still just as sharp as they were before when he peers at Vivian and Adrian in turn. "You will both be serving separate detentions until the end of term. You should thank Professor Slughorn for the fact that I will allow you to continue playing Quidditch. However," he adds when McGonagall opens her mouth to argue, "if this should happen again…" He raises an eyebrow at them, making it clear that he won't be as lenient should there be another duel.

"Now is the time for solidarity," Dumbledore says. "I needn't tell you both how displeased I am to be doling out this punishment, but alas, such things must be taken seriously, especially in these times." He pauses to catch Slughorn's eye, and adds, "Horace, if you would escort Mr. Mulciber to the Slytherin common room, I would be most grateful."

Their Head of House is still spluttering when he agrees, though he certainly looks quite a bit thankful that both of his students will still be allowed to play Quidditch. Horace Slughorn has as much pride for his house as any professor ought to, and he celebrates Slytherin victories just the same as any other. What's more, he does love a good Quidditch match and feels that it would be a great shame to see Slytherin fall out of the running so close to winning the Quidditch Cup, so he doesn't argue any further as he gestures to the door and escorts Adrian towards it.

Before they can leave, though, Dumbledore says, "Ah, and Mr. Mulciber…"

Adrian turns to catch the Headmaster's eye.

"…I hope, most dearly, that you think upon your path before you are consumed by it."

Vivian watches Adrian's expression out of the corner of her eye. His reaction to Dumbledore's warning, however, appears to fall on deaf ears. He merely smirks at the Headmaster and inclines his head, looking as if he doesn't take a word of it seriously. Dumbledore, for his part, doesn't seem surprised by this and merely watches him disappear before turning to Vivian.

"Your badge, Miss Blair," he gravely says once they leave.

Vivian hesitates only a moment before wrangling her prefect badge from the front of her robes and depositing it into the Headmaster's outstretched hand. She isn't sad to be rid of it. It is one less weight hanging upon her shoulders, and she feels nothing at all when it is gone.

Dumbledore sets it carefully upon his desk, thumbing over its silver corner for a lengthy moment. McGonagall watches silently, and then sighs, "I ought to return to the Great Hall to see if Flitwick has everything under control."

Dumbledore looks up and nods, "Yes, that would be best."

McGonagall nods back and glances once more at Vivian, her eyes still stern and sharp, before she too disappears. Vivian almost wishes she would stay, if only because she feels quite uncomfortable to be alone with the Headmaster, who had told her he could provide her a safe house should she require one. That hadn't been very long ago, really, yet as the silence lingers, it feels like an age has passed since then.

"I suppose you are just as happy to have removed this badge, Miss Blair. I have heard that you haven't attended a prefect meeting in some time," Dumbledore finally says, leaning back in his chair to peer at her once more.

Vivian resists the urge to shuffle her feet and merely replies, "I've had…a lot to think about lately."

Dumbledore nods sagely, as if he knows precisely what those things are. Again, the feeling of discomfort thunders through her at the way his eyes gleam with knowledge. He did say, once, that he knows about everything that happens in this school. She wonders if he really meant _everything_.

It is difficult, though, to understand what goes on in Albus Dumbledore's mind. He is elusive and mysterious on his best days, and can be quite close-lipped at that. Rather than speak to her about the fact that she had ignored his previous warning to not leave the school grounds under any circumstances, he merely says, "You are quite a fortunate young witch, Vivian. Not everyone can claim to have such a wide array of friends."

At this, Vivian glances up at him and furrows her brow.

"Headmaster…?" she hedges, unsure of where he's going with this.

Dumbledore smiles wanly at her. "Alas, it pains me to say that a student is a lost cause, but Adrian Mulciber has journeyed beyond my reach. You, however, still have the opportunity to make the right decision. You have friends who would help you, if you let them."

Vivian purses her mouth and grudgingly responds, "Yes, I know. Gryffindors _always_ want to help people. It's infuriating."

Dumbledore, a Gryffindor himself, smiles a bit wider at this. "Where it concerns the people they love, a Gryffindor can indeed be quite steadfast." He studies her for a moment more before saying, "However, I find that the Slytherin tendency to put oneself first is also quite remarkable."

Vivian snorts at this. "Are you saying I'm selfish, Headmaster?" she asks, and thinks about the conversation she'd had with James.

Dumbledore hums, "No, Miss Blair: you are self-_driven_. Now, classes begin soon and I'm sure your friends are eager to congratulate you for the fascinating hexes you used this morning."

Vivian raises an eyebrow at this. The Headmaster merely smiles serenely at her and says, "I myself have always been partial to the Bat-Bogey Hex. It is unfortunate that it isn't more widely used. I admire a more creative duelist. Now off you go, Miss Blair, and let's keep that last tidbit of advice to ourselves, shall we?"

Vivian is still reeling with confusion when she steps out of Dumbledore's office. This doesn't entirely surprise her, given that the Headmaster is quite a peculiar man and is at times rather difficult to follow. Her confusion only grows though, when, the moment she steps out into the corridor, a voice sighs, "That was brilliant, you know. I think you might be the most incredible girl I've ever met."

Vivian takes one look at the mooning expression on Sirius's face and rolls her eyes. "I thought I told you not to talk to me, Black," she mutters, and turns on her heel to walk down the corridor.

Sirius follows. "I just figured you should know how desperately I want to kiss you for the stinging hex you threw at Mulciber."

This does, admittedly, make her pause for half a second before she remembers herself, and mutters, "Yeah, well, it didn't do any good in the end."

As Sirius falls into step beside her, he tentatively asks, "What's your punishment, then?"

She glances at him and, despite the voice in her head telling her to stop talking to him, mutters, "Detentions for the rest of the year. And I got my badge taken away."

Sirius's eyebrows raise. He's more impressed than anything, which probably shouldn't surprise her seeing as he's a Marauder. She rolls her eyes at him and picks up her pace. _Gryffindors_. Honestly.

"You weren't a very good prefect anyhow," he points out.

She grunts.

"It was worth it, if you ask me," he adds.

Vivian shoots a glower at him (though she doesn't necessarily disagree, for the most part), and sneers, "I still haven't forgiven you for the poems, so piss off."

Now Sirius has spent the last few weeks hearing this order leave her lips in one form or another, and to be quite honest, he's worked up an immunity to it by now. Furthermore, he's never been very good at following orders anyway, especially after the way Vivian had responded to his last kiss, just before that troll had ruined it. He also knows Vivian Blair rather well by now and personally believes that she's being a bit too stubborn about admitting that she actually _has_ forgiven him. After all, he's seen her when she's well and truly angry (today being the perfect example), and this certainly isn't it.

If she was still angry at him, she wouldn't let him fall into step beside her as she walks down the corridor. She wouldn't let him continue to speak, either.

"I think you forgave me for that ages ago, you just don't want to admit it," he says. Then, when she turns to glower at him, he adds, "And I know that you're secretly impressed, for that matter."

Sounding quite scornful, Vivian repeats, "Impressed?"

Sirius smirks. "Face it, Godric, you're amazed at my literary abilities."

Her scornful frown turns into a proper scowl now, mainly at being called 'Godric' yet again.

"Your poetry is beyond awful," she drawls at him and rounds the corner.

Sirius catches up with a tempered smile. "I'll bet you swooned over it, didn't you?"

"I would never swoon over that shit," she replies immediately.

"Oh right – excuse me, I'll bet you _silently_ swooned, and hexed anyone who happened to see," he corrects.

"If your shitty poems actually meant anything to me, I wouldn't have burned them," she drawls, deciding it best to let him continue believing that she had done exactly that, if only to mess with his annoying confidence. Damnable Gryffindors.

This does in fact make Sirius pause a bit. He clears his throat awkwardly and purses his mouth, apparently not knowing what to say. Vivian looks at him out of the corner of her eye and lifts her chin.

"…They could use some work, actually," she tells him in a clipped tone, and then stops walking to look at him properly. He does look a bit less confident than usual, now that she's actually studying the lines of his face.

Sirius blinks at her in confusion, so Vivian rolls her eyes and impatiently repeats, "They could use some _work,_ Sirius." When he still doesn't seem to grasp what she's saying, she sighs, "How did Potter put it? All a girl really wants is for you to throw away your dignity?"

Sirius's expression turns partially embarrassed that she'd overheard one of James's groveling pep-talks and partially optimistic. His eyes crease with tentative hope. It's there in his voice, too, when he murmurs, "…What exactly are you saying, Vivian?"

Vivian sends him an imperiously haughty look and mutters, "Salazar, you have got to be the dumbest man alive." Then, before he can defend his intellect, she crosses her arms and drawls, "What I'm _saying,_ Sirius, is that your poetry needs _refining,_ and the only way to do that is to _practice."_

Sirius's mouth slow unfurls into a wide smile.

"I thought you'd sworn off Gryffindors, Blair," he murmurs with shining eyes.

Vivian scoffs and begins walking again. As she goes, she calls back, "I'm only doing this to help you improve your questionable poetic abilities, Black. Don't read so much into it."

And with that, Vivian disappears around the far corner.

Sirius just smiles.

* * *

Vivian and Mulciber's altercation is the only thing people can talk about all day. Those few students who hadn't been in the Great Hall that morning are quickly filled into the latest Hogwarts drama by their friends. Gossip flies from one house to the next, and with it comes speculative conclusions as to what, exactly, had set Vivian off to such an extent. If Vivian wasn't so wary about it all, she might have been amused at some of the gossipy reasons that are spewed around the school.

"_I heard that she just didn't like the way he was looking at her. I mean, let's face it – Blair can be a bit temperamental sometimes, you know?"_

"_No, it's obviously because he insulted her. I'll bet he called her a troll or something."_

"_What if he's the one who was writing her those letters and she decided to retaliate?"_

"_That's ridiculous. Mulciber doesn't even know which end of a quill to write with."_

In any case, normally Vivian wouldn't care overmuch about being the subject of gossip, but given the circumstances, she is a bit leery about it all. Especially when Adrian sends her a note in Defense Against the Dark Arts later that very same day, which says: _'I wonder what your father will say when he hears that you tried to blast off your fiancé's face in front of the entire school?'_

Vivian glares at him when she reads it, flips it around, and scrawls on the back: _'I'm sure he'll congratulate me for defending our family's honor.'_

When she sends it back to him as soon as Professor Anderson turns to the chalkboard, Adrian raises an eyebrow at her response. He looks quite doubtful that any congratulating will be done, which Vivian is secretly in agreement with. She doesn't show it, though, she merely sends him another dark look before turning away.

She doesn't know what her father will say when he hears about the altercation, but she isn't expecting him to be proud of her for it. After rereading his letter, he is surely bound to revoke all the pleasant sentiments that he had originally written. At this point, Vivian isn't sure she cares either way if he's proud of her, especially if the reason for it is linked to her officially joining Voldemort. Still, she will have to have something prepared to tell him that might mitigate his impending fury.

She can't stop thinking about what Adrian had said, though, all throughout the day. Vivian isn't stupid. She knows that if she were to go back on the marriage contract, her father could potentially disinherit her. Perhaps not officially, but he would certainly distance himself from her publicly, if only to save face. She will only become the sole proprietor of her family's estate after both her parents die, and so she'd always figured that if she were to refuse Mulciber entirely, she would be in for quite a bit of hardship until that time in which she can return to the manor. She hadn't actually considered that her father might hand off the estate to the Ministry, though. Lukas Blair is surely too prideful to do such a thing, but – then again, perhaps in his eyes, taking such an action would be more appealing than signing over his fortune to his rebellious daughter.

But what should she do? Is there ever an easy answer to life's many troubles?

During Arithmancy, she receives one answer, at least – well, sort of.

Gavin Clarke isn't the sort to pass notes in class, mind you. It's quite unbefitting for a student of his caliber to lower himself to the unruly ways of his fellows. In his words, 'class is for learning, not socializing!', and since he is a man who lives by what he preaches, he usually manages to keep such things separated and not mix them together. In his opinion, this ability to keep one's priorities straight at all times is what makes Ravenclaws the best, naturally.

So when yet another note flutters down in front of Vivian and she sees Gavin's crisp penmanship carefully written across the scrap of parchment, she is a bit surprised.

'_Astronomy tower, before dinner,'_ is all the note says. She turns her head to catch his eye across the room, but Gavin only gives her a brief look before returning to his note-taking. Ah, well, it seems that he is yet able to keep his priorities straight, if only just.

That he wants to talk to her in private doesn't surprise her. She'd been expecting this. When she does climb up to the top of the Astronomy tower an hour or so before dinner, she's bracing herself for an inevitable Ravenclaw tirade.

As expected, she gets one.

"I can't believe you!" is the first thing out of his mouth when he sees her. "You can't just start dueling like that – and I heard you got your badge taken away! Do you realize how terrible this is for your future employers? No one will want to hire you if they think you're a rebellious – "

"I can't stand him, Gavin," Vivian interrupts with a groan, and sits down on one of the stone benches that encircle the tower. This was a good place to meet, really, because people don't usually come up here during the day. Once nightfall hits, you never know what snogging couples you'll find – but she digresses.

Gavin turns to face her, crossing his arms and sending her a stern look. "That doesn't mean you should start a duel right in front of the professors and the _Headmaster."_

Vivian grumbles, "I know," and crosses her arms, too.

"Look, I haven't seen much of you lately because you keep avoiding me – "

"I'm not avoiding you."

" – so I'm just going to say this clearly, that way you can't brush it off. I know you're up to something with Mulciber and the other Slytherins, and I'm really hoping that you didn't do something stupid."

Vivian raises her eyes to Gavin's. He's staring at her with a touch of concern lingering in his eyes. When she doesn't respond, his concern grows.

"You _did_ do something stupid, didn't you?" he sighs, uncrossing his arms and running his hands through his hair.

Slightly insulted, Vivian glowers at him and rolls her eyes. "I didn't have a choice. At least, I didn't think I did. Gavin, tell me what to do."

Now, if her display earlier that day in the Great Hall didn't make it clear enough to him that she's floundering, this certainly does. Vivian Blair doesn't ask for advice. She would sooner go her own direction than ever listen to what anyone else says. The moment someone tells her what to do, she does the complete opposite just to spite them.

Gavin turns back to her and stares, floundering himself now. In truth, he doesn't really know what she should do. Ravenclaw or not, he doesn't always have an answer. Still, he is her friend, and Gavin Clarke helps his friends.

He sighs and sits down next to her. Far in the distance, the sun blazes towards the horizon, lighting up the Astronomy tower with its fading golden rays. The depth of early evening attempts to press the sunset down; deepening blue threatening to consume the sun's final eulogies. As he studies the sky, Gavin leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and takes his glasses off. He begins to polishes the lenses against the hem of his robes.

"Tell me everything, Vivian. I can't help you if I don't know exactly what you've gotten yourself into."

He knows this is probably difficult for her. While he's known Vivian since first year, he's only recently gotten to know her properly. Still, in the time that they have grown closer, he understands how closed-off she can be where it concerns personal matters. Vivian rarely talks about herself. It is a defense mechanism to keep out a world full of people who would not understand her; a method to keep herself above others, always separated, always set apart. It is a lonely existence bred from an early age of solitude.

At his side, Vivian remains silent for a long time, and he waits patiently for her to find the words that she's looking for. Finally, as the wind grows a touch colder and the sun begins to sink beyond the Forbidden Forest, she whispers, "My father wrote to me today. He told me that Voldemort wants to meet me. He wants me to join his Inner Circle."

A stirring breeze captures them then, made all the bleaker by her whispered confession. Gavin pauses, but doesn't lift his eyes from his task, and waits.

"…I handed over the spell to Bellatrix. I created an Inferi. I just…I don't know what to do. I told Adrian that I wouldn't marry him, but if I don't, then I'll be thrown out. I'll be alone."

Gavin finishes polishing the lenses and slips his glasses back on. He remains silent, but it is a thoughtful sort of silence; the kind that one enters into when they have many thoughts to process.

It's comforting, which is why she adds, "I told Sirius to write me another poem."

Gavin glances over at her and studies her profile. She smiles bitterly and mutters, "I was told that I'm self-driven, but what does that even mean?"

This, at least, he can provide an answer to.

"…It means that you don't let yourself be swayed by others. You keep to your own moral compass," he quietly says.

Vivian runs a hand through her hair. "Yes, but if I was truly self-motivated, I'd do what's best for myself, right? I'd marry Mulciber and join Voldemort in order to keep my social status and my estate. Or – does it mean that I'd do what I _really_ want to do?"

"Which is?" Gavin asks, even though he already knows.

Vivian pauses, stares down at her hands, and mumbles, "Tell Sirius that I really want him to buy that country house he was rambling about, before."

The corner of Gavin's mouth quirks up at this, but he doesn't outright smile. The heaviness in her voice subdues whatever small amusement he feels to hear her admit that. Instead, he leans back and muses, "It sounds to me as if this is a matter of deciding between your head and your heart." Her first response to this is to roll her eyes because it's such a cliché thing to say, but Gavin ignores her reaction and just continues, "On the one hand, you choose money and status. On the other, you choose happiness."

Her second reaction is to look over at him in surprise. Gavin looks back at her and raises an eyebrow.

"Every decision can be stripped down to its core. This isn't any different, really," he tells her. "You've been trying not to decide for ages now, Vivian, but you can't go on like this forever. Soon, you have to choose one or the other, and once you do, you won't be able to go back."

She remains silent, thinking.

"Adrian wouldn't be happy," she finally says.

Gavin snorts. "Oh come off it, Vivian. We both know you don't give a damn about what makes Adrian Mulciber happy. You proved _that_ in the Great Hall today." He catches her eye and sends her a look. "Being self-driven means that you do what's best for _you_. It's not a bad thing, you know."

She mutters, "I know," and means it. Still, even though she's already made her choice, she can't help but wonder if it's the right one.

"I think I'm in love with Sirius," she admits suddenly, and frowns. "I'm not really sure how that happened."

Gavin laughs, and she finds herself laughing too, because it's all very strange, really. Being in love – and actually admitting it, for that matter.

Gavin nudges her playfully and says, "To be honest, Vivian, I think he's good for you. He's an annoying prat, but you're both two sides of the same coin, in a way."

She hums.

"So which is it, then? Status or happiness?" he wonders, leaning back against the bench and looking out over the grounds of Hogwarts.

Vivian falls silent and leans back too, watching the sun's final rays.

"You know, I've never cared much about the opinions of others," is all she says in response. Before them, the sky blisters with a fiery red sunset that fights back the imminent twilight.

At her side, Gavin reaches over to take her hand, and gives it a comforting squeeze.


	57. Poeta nascitur, non fit

**Chapter Fifty Seven | Poeta nascitur, non fit**

**[A poet is born, not made]**

In James's opinion, Sirius likes to think of himself as the sort of person who needs not bother himself with matters pertaining to studying, or improving himself, or brushing up on his abilities, because Sirius is naturally already as close to perfect as someone can be, thank you. Sirius himself would not agree with all of those points (though he does like to think he's pretty damn perfect, _thank you),_ and would counter with the argument that even though he is fairly incredible, there are, on occasion, aspects of his perfection that aren't always up to par. In moments when those aspects do in fact need some 'brushing up', he is always willing to apply himself when necessary. One does not become as incredible as Sirius is without at least a little bit of effort, after all.

The problem with moments such as these is that James tends to turn them into Marauder bonding sessions. Allow me to illustrate:

"Padfoot, have you ever heard of the 'basic elements of poetry'? There's a lot more to this than I thought," James muses as he leans back in his chair and flips through '_Pamela's Primer for Apprentice Poets'._

Sirius doesn't even lift his head to glance over at James. He's much too busy scribbling out a Poem to Outwit All Poems (AKA The Poem That Will Make Vivian Blair Swoon). He doesn't have time for James's antics, honestly, this is important.

"Meter, rhyme, rhythm, enjambment…what's that, Moony?" James wonders.

Remus doesn't glance up either. Unlike Sirius, though, Remus is actually doing something useful with his time and trying to study for NEWTs. He mutters, "No idea, Prongs," and continues copying down his History of Magic notes.

James frowns, grabs the large dictionary he had asked Pince to locate for precisely this purpose (to her utter shock), and shoves it across the table at Peter, who is also attempting to study for NEWTs. "Look it up, would you Wormtail? Enjambment."

Peter, who often finds it more difficult to ignore James's antics as easily as the others, sighs and turns to the dictionary. "How do you spell that?" he asks.

"E-n-j-a-"

"Would you both be quiet? I'm trying to write a masterpiece," Sirius mutters.

"…m-b-m-e-n-t," James finishes in a whisper, and turns to Sirius and adds, "This is important, Padfoot. We have to make sure you know what you're doing."

Sirius rolls his eyes and mutters, "I _do_ _know_ what I'm doing, Prongs. I've been writing these all year."

"Yes, but this is the first poem you're writing as _you,_ not as Vivian's undisclosed admirer," James points out just as Peter locates the mystery word.

He pushes the dictionary towards James and reads aloud, "Enjambment: A technique in poetry whereby a sentence is carried over to the next line without pause."

James hums thoughtfully. "Fascinating. Are you adding some enjambments to your poem, Padfoot?"

Sirius shoots him an impatient look. James, though, has already turned his eyes back to his book and murmurs, "What about symbolism? I hope you're adding some of that. Girls probably like symbolism, right Moony?"

Remus shrugs and responds, "No idea, Prongs."

Sirius rolls his eyes and scratches out a line, tapping the end of his quill against his chin thoughtfully.

James pauses thoughtfully, too. "You know, maybe _I'm_ a bit of a poet as well. I mean think about it. I use symbolism all the time with Lily."

"…How so?" Peter asks in confusion.

"Well I call her 'Lilyflower', don't I?" James responds.

Peter furrows his brow. "Yeah, but her name is Lily. That's not symbolism, it's just you trying to be clever."

James waves his words away and sighs, "Anyway, what kind of poem are you writing, Padfoot? That's important too. Let's see…you have the option of composing a Couplet, a Sonnet, a Limerick – oh, Merlin, I've got a great idea…"

Quite suddenly, James pulls a roll of parchment towards him and falls abruptly silent save for the scratching of his quill. Sirius shoots him a weird look, wonders if he ought to leave before James starts spewing more shit about symbolism, and exchanges an exasperated look with Remus, who lifts his head to also see what James is now doing.

"Um, Prongs…?" Peter says. "What exactly are you writing?"

"Shh, Wormtail, I'm trying to write a masterpiece," is the only thing James says in reply.

Across the table, Sirius glowers at James and says, "I hope you're not writing Lily a poem, Prongs, because this is what _I _do and you can't steal my technique – "

"Oh come off it, Padfoot. As if you're the only poet to ever exist, honestly," Prongs snorts. "Besides, I reckon I'm better than you anyhow."

Sirius's looks a bit ruffled at this. "Oh really?" he demands. "Let's see what you've got, then!"

James sniffs at him and shoves his poem at him with a pretentious smile. "Prepare to be amazed, Padfoot."

'_There once was a girl named Lily;_

_She's a flower that's full of beauty._

_Which is, in short, why_

_We should give it a try_

_And she ought to go out with me.'_

Sirius scans it, then – much to James's horror – crumples it up into a ball and tosses it over his shoulder. It rolls under a nearby table that's full of studious Ravenclaws and gets smashed underfoot. James drops his mouth at Sirius, who shrugs, "It's rubbish."

"It's not rubbish!"

"Yeah it is."

"It isn't – it even had one of those enjambments! And symbolism! Didn't you notice how I compared Lily to a flower - ?"

"It was terrible and you should thank me for disposing of it before you decided to give it to her."

"You – you – "

"Yes? Me?"

"_You're_ rubbish!" James declares loudly, then grabs another roll of parchment and mutters, "Fine, I'll write a better one."

Sirius rolls his eyes and drawls, "Not a limerick, I hope."

James sniffs haughtily again and proclaims, "I'll bet Lily _loves_ limericks. Did you see what I did there? I just used _alliteration,_ Padfoot. Maybe you ought to add some of that to _your_ poems."

Sirius snorts and rolls his eyes. Across the way, one of the Ravenclaws realizes that he's got something under his shoe and leans over to see what it is. He raises an eyebrow, plucks the crumpled ball of parchment off the floor, and opens it.

Timing really is everything, you know.

"Lily, it looks like this is for you," the Ravenclaw says, and hands it blindly to the redhead who is at this very moment walking towards the library doors. She pauses, frowns in confusion, and takes it – much to James's horror.

"…Did you really think it was rubbish, Padfoot?" James hisses as he slumps down in his chair and reaches over to grab Peter's textbook out of his hands. He nearly slams it into his face in an attempt to hide, not that it actually does any good.

Not lifting his eyes from the paper in front of him, Sirius hums, "Yeah, complete and utter rubbish. You're an awful poet. Lily would probably murder you if she happened to read that poem."

James pales. Lily snaps her head over to their table and raises an eyebrow. Murder, however, doesn't appear to be in her eyes; only a large helping of judgmental incredulity.

"Potter," she calls, and the Marauders all glance up in surprise, having not even realized that Lily was in the library to begin with (well, except for the one who is now trying to slink down his chair as Lily marches over to them).

Sirius snickers at James's dilemma and drawls, "Lily, what did you think of James's poem?"

Lily ignores Sirius and growls, "Potter. Don't you have anything better to be doing with your time than writing rubbish limericks?"

Behind his borrowed textbook, James laughs haltingly and in a muffled voice, says, "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Lilyflower. I've never written a limerick in my life."

"What's that in front of you, then?" Lily demands, and James stiffens. The next moment, he's throwing the textbook down to snatch up his new roll of parchment, shoving it into his pocket before Lily can see his half-scrawled attempt at a second (less rubbish) limerick. His pale countenance transforms into a startling shade of bright red, the likes of which has never been seen before, and he clears his throat as Lily eyes him, still holding the wrinkled first attempt as she hovers over their table.

"Erm. Well, this was really lovely and I'm glad to help you out when I can, Padfoot, but I really must be going. Head Boy duties or something," James hurriedly says, and nearly dashes out of the library with his face still aflame.

Lily raises an eyebrow after him and tucks the first limerick into her pocket with a satisfied smile. When Sirius sees it, he sends her a weird look and asks, "Why're you _keeping_ that rubbish?"

Lily startles at bit at the blunt question, swivels around to face Sirius, and snaps, "Blackmail, Sirius. Why else?" But from the way her cheeks are reddening just so, Sirius isn't convinced.

"I think you're _impressed_ with that awful attempt at poetry," he incredulously says, much to Lily's perturbance. He scoffs, "Did you know girls were so easily charmed, Moony?"

As Lily rolls her eyes and stomps off, Remus flips a page of his textbook and mumbles, "…No idea, Padfoot," under his breath.

* * *

With the end of the year fast approaching and NEWT examinations around the corner, a strange thing happens to the population of seventh year students within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: they disappear. If they are not in their common rooms kicking out all the younger, more carefree students and claiming the space as their own, they are in the library. If not there, in empty dormitories.

Vivian had tried studying in the library, but the Ravenclaws have completely taken it over and they make it very difficult to concentrate with all the quill-scratching and mumbling. She'd tried, briefly, to study in the common room too, but Mulciber has been continuing his silent efforts to annoy her and has been joining her whenever she does. They gotten into a few minor arguments since the incident in the Great Hall, but other than that, the last few days have been relatively quiet. It helps that they are serving their detentions separately, otherwise Vivian is sure that this would not be the case.

Anyway, Vivian had considered heading back down to the third floor classroom she had used to practice her spell, but lugging all of her textbooks there had been too exhausting to consider, so she has set up in her dormitory instead. It isn't the best place to study, but it's better than her other options.

Outside the windows of her dormitory, the Black Lake has taken on a dark greenish hue. The midday sun drifts through it just so, barely managing to reach the depths where the Slytherin commons are located. The emerald drapes have all been pulled open and every now and again, Vivian can see Grindylows flit past. They occasionally pause to peer into the room to make faces at her, but since Vivian hardly gives them a second look, they quickly grow bored and carry on their way, their voices muttering from beyond the enchanted windows. Vivian is glad that they aren't in one of their moods; if they'd started banging on the windows like they sometimes do, she'd have to shut the drapes entirely.

It's a Saturday afternoon, and Vivian has been cooped up in here for most of the day. Morrigan, Rosalind, and Narcissa have come around now and again, but they should all be in Hogsmeade now, enjoying one of their final school trips into the village. With only a few weeks of school left, they are making the most of it. Vivian would, too, if it wasn't for the fact that she is quite behind on her studying.

"You'll ace your NEWTs anyway," Morrigan had told her a few hours before, when she had returned to the dorm to fetch her cloak. "I don't see why you're so worried."

Vivian had snapped, "I'm not _worried_. I don't care if I ace them or not."

This isn't entirely true. She hadn't cared all that much a few weeks before, but see, something has changed now. Vivian still isn't entirely sure how she's going to handle Mulciber and the marriage contract, but the notion of removing herself from it means that she needs a plan. If she botches up her NEWT exams, then her employment options once she graduates are going to be dismal at best, and _then_ what will she do? Since receiving her father's last letter, she reckons that she very well may need to support herself.

She doesn't say any of that to Morrigan, though, who sends her an eye roll before throwing her cloak over her shoulders and ducking back out of the room, mumbling to herself about how Vivian is wasting a perfectly good Saturday. Morrigan probably won't start studying until the week before NEWTs, because whether she aces them or not, it makes little difference to her. She's set to marry Antonin Dolohov and won't be expected to have a job anyway. In the pureblood world, wives don't usually work. It's far more respectable for them to remain at home, raise the children, and keep the house in order.

In a way, Vivian finds herself feeling slightly jealous of Morrigan. Morrigan doesn't much like the idea of marrying Dolohov, who is quite a few years older than her, but neither does she see the point in refusing the life that is being planned for her. Sure, she might complain about it, but she has resolved herself to her fate and hasn't worried about it overmuch.

"He's foul, but he can't be that bad, right?" she had shrugged when Vivian had asked about it some time ago. "I mean, what's the point in getting all worked up about it? All I've got to do is pop out a few kids, and then I can live out the rest of my life going through his money."

Morrigan has always been a bit of a forward-thinker. Once her spousal duties are performed, she reckons her life will be pretty good, overall. Slytherins aren't usually known for their optimism, but Vivian thinks that Morrigan is an exception. Vivian certainly isn't as hopeful.

It's really all Sirius's fault, she decides as she shuts her Transfiguration textbook and leans back against the headboard of her bed. If it wasn't for him, she'd probably be in Morrigan's shoes even now, unconcerned and accepting of her lot in life. She scoffs to herself and tilts her head back, staring at the stone ceiling of the dormitory when a blank expression.

Yes, it's all his fault. Everything is, really.

After a while, Vivian decides to go down to see if lunch is still being served in the Great Hall. She's a bit hungry and she's starting to go cross-eyed from all this studying, so she trails out of the Slytherin common rooms in hopes of finding some sort of distraction. She's mainly hoping to run into Gavin, but alas, instead…

"Pride, just the person I've been waiting for," James says just as she's rounding the last corner that will bring her out of the dungeons. The unexpected voice has her nearly jumping in surprise, heart thumping anxiously for several beats before a scowl grows on her face and Vivian rolls her eyes. Potter. Figures.

"What is it _this_ time? I've already given Sirius a second chance. It isn't _my_ fault that he hasn't done anything about it yet," she scoffs at him.

Honestly, that's a whole other thing. How long does it take to write a stupid poem, anyway? Since she had issued the challenge a week before, she's hardly seen Sirius at all. She's starting to wonder if he's decided not to bother.

James waves her words away and shrugs, "Oh, he _is_ doing something about it. He fancies himself a master poet these days. It's very annoying, actually."

Vivian, who is not quite expecting this, either, clears her throat and just grumbles to herself. Thankfully, James doesn't notice because he's too busy thrusting a bit of parchment at her and saying, "Anyway, onto more important things. What are your thoughts on this?"

Vivian sends him a baleful look but takes the parchment anyway. She's a tad bit wary, of course (for all she knows, this could be some sort of prank), but her wariness vanishes completely when she begins to read:

'_There was once a fine student named James_

_Who has gained quite a lot of acclaim _

_For, within Hogwarts school,_

_He's broken all rules,_

_And that naturally makes him quite famed.'_

She lifts her head to stare at him silently. James waits with a hopeful smile. And then…

"What the fuck, Potter. Did Sirius wrangle you into writing me poems too?" she asks, sounding a bit disgusted at the notion.

James looks quite disgusted as well. He makes a grossed out face and returns, "No, of course not! Ew. Why would I write you a poem? That's gross. That's completely horrid – "

"I think I get the point," Vivian deadpans.

"This is for Lily, obviously," he tells her, as if he thinks she really ought to know better.

Vivian sends him a weird look. "…You're writing limericks to Lily now? About how you're an awful student? I fail to see how that will make her admit that she likes you."

James sighs at her. "Read the first line again, Pride. Honestly. I specifically said that I'm a 'fine student'."

Vivian raises an eyebrow, then glances back down at the poem and points out, "Yeah, and then you go on to add that you've broken every rule at Hogwarts. I don't know if you realize this, Potter, but that completely contradicts the notion of you being a _fine student."_

James shakes his head at her and sighs again, as if he thinks he's dealing with a child. "The point is that I've gained a lot of _fame_ during my time here, and what girl doesn't want to be with a famous bloke? I'm trying to highlight my strengths, see?"

Vivian stares at him again. Then – to James's horror – she crumples the poem into a ball and tosses it over her shoulder. "It's rubbish," she tells him, and continues on her way.

James gapes at her, then at the crumpled poem, then back at her. The next moment, he's hurrying to collect it and exclaiming, "It's not rubbish! I bet _Lily_ would understand the point I'm trying to make!"

From up ahead, Vivian snorts, "Go ahead and give it to her, then. I, for one, would love to see her reaction."

Behind her, James pauses, pictures Lily's annoyed face, and mumbles, "Fine, I'll write a better one."

Vivian doesn't respond, and just keeps walking.

* * *

Alas, while James rushes to dig up a fresh roll of parchment and blatantly ignores studying for NEWTs in favor of trying his hand at another limerick, Vivian returns to her own work and spends the remainder of the weekend shut up in her dormitory, trying to wrap her brain around human transfiguration, which McGonagall has told them will be on the exams. Vivian isn't very fond of the subject and, though she has the basics down, she doesn't feel very prepared to be tested on it. She really should have just dropped the subject this year entirely, but it's far too late for that.

After classes on Monday, most of the castle goes out to watch the match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Vivian stays inside and takes advantage of the fact that the library is significantly quieter. There are still a lot of Ravenclaws who have also decided not to attend, but a good portion of them seem to have thought it wise to take a break and get some fresh air. Gavin Clarke is not one of them, naturally.

"That's wrong," he tells her, pointing at a portion of her Potions notes. "Felix Felicis uses _powdered_ Rue, not _crushed_ Rue."

Vivian sends him an annoyed look and Gavin shrugs at her.

"Just trying to help," he mutters, and turns back to his own work.

She does the same, but scratches out the word 'crushed' and switches it to 'powdered' nonetheless. She's about to jot down several more points about the potion she's looking over when, far in the distance at the Quidditch pitch, the sound of cheering distracts her, and she glances over at the window to see what's going on.

Gavin glances up at her as she does and murmurs, "I'm surprised you're not down there. I'll bet Black is upset that he can't show off in front of you."

Vivian rolls her eyes at him and mutters, "I highly doubt that's stopping him from showing off."

Gavin snickers in agreement and she adds, "Besides, he's hardly even looked my way all week. I figured he'd be tripping over himself to write that poem."

She sounds a bit annoyed about this, which nearly makes Gavin snicker again until he catches sight of the way she turns to eye him. Instead, he clears his throat and shrugs, "He's probably making sure it's good enough to gain back the last of your favor."

At this, Vivian snorts, "Well it'd be nice if he hurried up. James has already wrote about a _dozen_ limericks for Lily, and he keeps wrangling me into telling him if they're rubbish or not."

Gavin raises an eyebrow. "That's…strange."

"It's _annoying,"_ she corrects with an eye roll. "I don't think he's given them to her yet, otherwise he'd probably be running around getting hexed every other second."

She glances back down to her Potions textbook and, as she's scrawling out another note, Gavin hums, "I don't know. The last few prefect meetings have been surprisingly productive. I think Lily's warming up to him."

Vivian lifts her head to stare at him and says quite bluntly, "You're joking."

Gavin's response to this is to shrug, "I wish I was."

They send each other agreeable looks and then shake their heads and turn back to their studying.

"You know, if Gryffindor wins this match, that means they'll be in the finals next week," Gavin says after a short silence. "You do know what that means, right?"

Vivian hums, "Slytherin will be playing against them for the Quidditch Cup. What about it?"

Gavin murmurs, "Just wondering if you'll be able to divide your time between your studies and the match is all."

She scoffs and mutters, "It'll be fine. The only subjects I really need to work on is Transfiguration and Potions. I'll ace Charms and Ancient Runes no problem, and the others I don't care about."

Gavin naturally looks quite ruffled at that last bit, but Vivian just sends him a look and adds, "Just go back to studying, Clarke."

He frowns but acquiesces.

* * *

Gavin ends up being right, though. The Slytherin team will be going up against Gryffindor in the final match of the year. By the end of the day, the whole school is talking about Gryffindor's win against Hufflepuff that afternoon. During dinner, its all the Slytherin table can talk about, too.

"We're gonna crush them in the finals," one of her housemates is saying to his friends, who are quick to agree.

Vivian just flips the page of her Spellman's Syllabary and lifts her goblet of pumpkin juice to her lips. To be honest, she doesn't really care who wins the last match at this point. She's no longer concerned about the bet she had made with Sirius at the start of the year. Whatever happens, happens. Frankly, she's too busy trying to decide which runic alphabet to study first to give Quidditch much thought.

Sirius, though, is another story.

"I'm thinking of having you dress up like Godric Gryffindor during the last feast," he drawls when she leaves the Great Hall after dinner. He appears to be waiting for her, because he's leaning against the wall by the door with his arms crossed over his chest. A smug grin has worked itself over his face. He's no doubt still overly pleased that his team had won the match that afternoon.

Vivian, who is not expecting to see him, does a bit of a double-take. She pauses with her book tucked under her arm and raises her eyebrows at him balefully.

"Really? That's funny, because I was thinking of having you dress up like Salazar Slytherin when _we_ win the Quidditch Cup," is her only retort. She sends him another look before continuing on her way.

Sirius hastily pushes off of the wall to catch up. "Don't steal my ideas, Vivian," he tells her as he falls into step beside her.

She scoffs, "That's what _everyone_ seems to be doing these days." At the confused glance he sends her way, she rolls her eyes and explains, "Potter has been stalking me all week, making me proofread his awful limericks."

Sirius's first reaction to this is to laugh. His second is to sigh, "Yeah, well, that's your own fault, really. If you hadn't wanted me to write another poem so badly, he never would've gotten the idea in the first place."

Upon hearing this gross stretch of the truth, Vivian comes to a standstill and turns on her heel to glower at him. Sirius pauses too, hands in his pockets, and waits for the inevitable denial that is about to fly from her lips. He doesn't have to wait for very long.

"I _don't_ want another poem," she scorns haughtily. "In fact, if you _ever_ write me another one, I'll kill you." And then she turns on her heel again and marches off. Or, well, she tries to.

Sirius smirks and catches up again with a mournful, "Ah, that's a shame. I've got such a _great_ poem in the works, too. I really thought you'd like it, but maybe I should just let James use it on Lily instead…"

Vivian glares at him and responds, "Reverse psychology? Do you really think that's going to work on me?"

Sirius shrugs. "I just want you to admit that you're waiting desperately for the next poem is all."

She lifts her chin and scoffs, "I'm not sure where you got that idea."

"Oh come off it. You've been eyeing me impatiently all week."

"No I haven't."

"You have. You think I haven't noticed?"

"The fact that you notice _anything_ is shocking in itself, since you're such an idiot."

"Point is, you really ought to be a bit more patient, Vivi. It takes a lot of work, writing a masterpiece."

"I've already told you, I don't care if you never write it at all."

"Anyway, you'll get it soon enough. I'm nearly finished, and then you'll be swooning just like you did with all the others."

Vivian glowers at him and snaps, "I don't swoon – "

"Don't worry, I won't judge you for it," he cuts in with a smug smile. "My poems are all rather swoon-worthy, aren't they?"

Vivian stands there for half a second, glowering at him, before she rolls her eyes and attempts to leave him behind once more. Sirius just grins and follows, grabbing her arm to stop her. She sends him an annoyed look, but he doesn't appear to notice and just hands her a folded-up piece of parchment. Vivian's eyebrows raise just so. She turns to eye him distrustfully.

"I thought you said you haven't finished it yet," she says.

Sirius smirks. "See, you really _are_ impatient. This isn't a poem, it's my latest prank idea."

She thinks she could throttle him. Maybe.

With a sigh, Vivian unfolds it and grouses, "I don't know why I'm even talking to you – what _is_ this? You're going to prank Potter? Isn't that against the Marauder code or whatever?"

Her sarcastic question makes Sirius snicker. With a shrug, he explains, "It's not technically breaking the code, see, because this is going to _help_ him. I'll admit that it isn't my best work, but since the year is nearly over, I figure it's necessary."

Vivian sends him a look before turning her eyes to the parchment. Sirius really is an awful artist. If it isn't for the notations explaining what each picture represents, she'd be completely lost. As it is, though…

"This is the most cliché thing ever," she dryly informs him. "I mean, locking Potter and Evans into an empty classroom? I thought you said you had a brain."

Sirius looks a bit miffed at that and exclaims, "I do have a brain, thank you! And it isn't _just_ locking them into an empty classroom. Don't you know how to read?"

He points at the poorly drawn image of wine glasses and blobs of plates, all of which have an arrow nearby that states '5 star dinner, whipped up via house-elves'. Vivian's eyebrow twitches a bit as she reads it. Her eyes scan over the parchment judgmentally.

"Why're you showing _me_ this, anyway? Lupin and Pettigrew didn't want to help?" she asks, and shoves the parchment back at him.

Sirius takes it with a sigh and informs her, "Remus is too busy convincing Peter that he needs to _study."_ He looks quite disgusted by the word and adds, "Besides, you're an Honorary Marauder, so I reckon you might as well make yourself useful. You can be the one to toss Lily into the room while I deal with James."

Vivian doesn't look very impressed with his suggestion. She snorts, "You seem to be under the impression that I have nothing better to do, Sirius. Plus, I'm still not supposed to be seen with you."

He eyes her with a frown, and mumbles, "…I don't know why you _can't_ be seen with me. At this point, who cares?"

She purses her mouth and responds, "…I don't want Adrian going after you."

Sirius pauses upon hearing this and turns to her. His frown is a little deeper, but not because he's annoyed with her. Well, not entirely. He shuffles forward and murmurs, "I don't care if he goes after me or not. All I care about is you."

Vivian swallows, keeps her eyes firmly trained on the opposite wall, and only moves when Sirius reaches over to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Only then does she turn to look at him, and she swallows again at the way his eyes are searing into hers. Quietly, ardently.

"The year's almost over," she tells him, then clears her throat because her voice is a bit shaky. "And then after that…"

Sirius lifts his eyebrows and prompts, "After that?"

Vivian turns away and shrugs, "I guess it depends on the poem that you're _supposed_ to be writing. Maybe you should focus on _that_ instead of luring Potter and Evans into empty classrooms."

From the corner of her eye, she sees Sirius smile a bit. "Right," he coughs, then adds, "But I _am_ sort of looking forward to pranking James. I was hoping you'd agree to help."

"I have to study."

"And maybe we could go to the kitchens together and, you know, make sure the menu is good. It could be sort of like…er, a date or something."

"Are you really asking me on a date for the _sole purpose_ of setting up a date for _Potter?"_

"I mean, it would be a separate date, obviously."

"Sometimes I really don't know why I put up with you."

"So will you?" Sirius asks, pretending not to hear her.

Vivian just sends him an imperious glance and scoffs, "I think you have a poem to write _first,_ Black. You haven't thrown your dignity away yet, after all."

Sirius crosses his arms and smirks, "Yeah, I'll get on that. You really can't wait for that poem, can you?"

Vivian glares at him and snaps, "I told you I don't care if you write it or not!"

And with that, she storms down the hall, quite impatient and annoyed and – well, definitely _not_ looking forward to reading whatever Sirius comes up with, obviously.

That would be quite ridiculous.


	58. Fama clamosa

**Chapter Fifty Eight | Fama clamosa**

**[Noisy rumor; public scandal]**

The last Quidditch match of the year occurs that Friday afternoon after classes. The entire day, the school is unable to speak of little else. All talk of NEWTs is pushed to the backburner. The professors try to keep their students on track during classes, but it's clear that the battle for the Quidditch Cup is more important to the students than making sure they are prepared to take their final exams.

Gryffindor and Slytherin have been at each other's throats all week. Ever since Gryffindor won the last match against Hufflepuff and officially made it to the finals, Slytherin has been booing them all throughout the castle. It's impossible to go to the Great Hall without a verbal lashing breaking out. Dumbledore doesn't appear to mind overmuch, though he does occasionally tell them to quiet down when things get overly heated. Anyway, it's not as if the Gryffindors are saints or anything. _Some_ of them have taken to waiting outside the Great Hall and tripping Slytherins who exit it.

"Oh, uh, sorry Pride," James had smiled, setting her aright. "To be fair though, you _are_ a Slytherin."

Vivian's sarcastic response to this had been a dry, "Am I? I hadn't noticed."

James had nodded sagely. "Yeah, sometimes I don't notice either. By the way, I've got another – "

"Stuff it, Potter. It'll be 10 sickles per limerick now."

"You're _charging?_ That's not fair!"

"Then get someone else to read them. How about Evans? I think I see her coming this way actually – "

James had only pushed her forward without any further argument. It had been a shame, that. She could've made a decent amount off of him.

In any case, the day of the last Quidditch match is understandably crazy. When it finally comes time for the two teams to arrive on the pitch, about thirty minutes before the rest of the school is due to take their seats, tensions are running high. Avery and Mulciber stalk across the pitch with the rest of them trailing behind. They sneer at the Gryffindor team, who are making their way into the locker rooms on the other side of the pitch. Vivian is surprised that they don't yell insults at them, but figures they're saving it for the match itself. She can already tell that it's going to be a bad one. She catches Sirius's eye as she follows Avery but doesn't linger.

"Do everything you can to win today," Avery tells them after they've dressed in their Quidditch robes. He goes over a few plans with the Chasers as Vivian waits near the doors, leaning against the wall with her broomstick in hand. She only half-listens, more interested in being done with this than actually giving two shits about what Avery has to say.

As she turns her head to watch the pitch begin to overflow with students, a voice hisses, "Vivian!" from just beyond the door.

Vivian, naturally, stiffens and glances over her shoulder to see if Avery is still giving his pre-match pep talk ("If we lose, I will bludgeon each and every one of you – ") and when she sees that everyone is still distracted, she edges out of the room.

There are four locker rooms set up beneath each House section, one for every team. Each of them is located just within the rafters of the stadium, so that it is impossible to see the entrances from the stands themselves. This element of seclusion is no doubt why Sirius had decided to risk sneaking over here, and also why he wastes very little time in grabbing her arm and hauling her some paces away from the door. Vivian doesn't argue as he drags her out of sight behind one of the larger wooden pillars, mainly because she's confused as to what he wants.

"Here," he says, and shoves a piece of parchment at her. It's a bit wrinkled from his handling of it, and has been folded into a small square that fits into her palm.

Vivian shoots him an annoyed look. "Please don't tell me this is another stupid prank you came up with," she says, about to shove it back at him.

Sirius, though, just raises an eyebrow at her and crosses his arms, leaning against the pillar beside her as he murmurs, "Huh, that wasn't the reaction I was expecting." His eyes are gleaming with contained amusement as he watches her pause and glance from the parchment to him, realization dawning on her face.

Vivian wastes no time after that as she immediately begins to unfold it, only for Sirius to stop her.

"Read it after the match," he tells her.

There's something in his voice that makes her look up at him again. Something tentative and cautious. She raises an eyebrow at him and slowly wonders, "…Are you _nervous?"_

Sirius immediately scoffs at this, which tells her that he most definitely is. A smirk captures the edge of her mouth. She could be wrong, but it almost looks like his cheeks are flushed just so.

"I'm not nervous," he swiftly denies when he sees the way she's shrewdly studying him. "I'm just saying that it'll have more of an impact after Gryffindor wins and I get to call in my bet."

This makes Vivian send him a narrowed, suspicious look. "You aren't _actually_ going to make me dress up like Godric Gryffindor if you win, are you?" she asks. The tone of her voice makes it clear that, while this isn't the worst threat she's received by far, it is certainly one of the less pleasant possibilities.

Sirius grins at her, looking strangely boyish. He glances around the pillar to see how much time they've got left before turning back to her and pulling her into him. It's sudden enough to surprise her, because she inhales sharply as his arms encircle her waist.

"I've got something better in mind," he whispers to her lowly, lips brushing her cheek.

Vivian shivers slightly and clears her throat. She haughtily informs him, "Well I suppose it won't matter, since Slytherin is going to crush you."

Sirius hums, "Please. Gryffindor is way more prepared. We're obviously going to win."

"I highly doubt that," she sniffs, and pushes him back.

Sirius does shuffle back, but it doesn't stop him from smirking, "I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

Vivian smirks too. "I guess we will."

He lingers there for a moment, looking as if he'd rather not leave, and then abruptly says, "Vivian – ", but before he can say anything more than that, the door to the Slytherin locker rooms bangs open and their time reaches an end. Sirius looks at her once more before sending her a roguish grin and stepping back. The next moment, he's disappearing through the rafters to rejoin his own team, just in time.

"What're you doing out here, Blair? You missed my pep talk," Avery grumbles at her as he steps out of the locker room.

Vivian rolls her eyes at him. "What, you mean the one where you threaten to kill us if we don't win? I've heard that a million times already," she sarcastically reminds him, and brushes past to join Mauve and Morrigan.

Avery just sneers at her before stomping forward towards the pitch, but Mulciber hangs back to send Vivian a look before following. It's a look that makes Vivian stiffen slightly, though she doesn't quite know how to describe it. Vindictive, perhaps. Knowing.

"You missed some really good threats," Morrigan drawls as they follow the others.

Vivian doesn't respond. She's too busy staring at the back of Adrian's head, suddenly wondering if he had seen Sirius leaving. She has little time to think on that, though, before the two teams are being called out onto the pitch.

"AND HERE WE ARE AT THE FINAL GAME OF THE YEAR! THE WINNERS OF THE QUIDDITCH CUP WILL BE DECIDED TODAY. WILL IT BE OUR WONDERFUL GRYFFINDORS, OR SLYTHERIN, WHO UNDOUBTEDLY DOESN'T DESERVE IT BECAUSE THEY'RE PIECES OF SHIT? OW – OKAY OKAY PROFESSOR, SORRY – "

Vivian sighs and walks onto the pitch behind her teammates. Across the field, the Gryffindors march towards them, each looking characteristically determined. As they meet in the center and Hooch makes her way towards them with the box containing the bludgers, quaffle, and snitch, a hard breeze tears through the stadium and sets the banners aflutter. Vivian is still keeping one eye on Adrian, but casts Sirius a quick glance as they all line up and face each other. He's not looking her directly because him and James are in the middle of staring down Avery. She sighs again and hopes for a quick match.

Quidditch has always been a quiet way for her to rebel against the stringent pureblood way of life. Though her parents hadn't been initially thrilled when she informed them she was planning on trying out for the team, her father hadn't put up much of a fight. It is her mother that loathes the idea of her perfectly bred daughter playing such a barbaric game, and it is her mother whom Vivian is rebelling against as she swings her leg over her broomstick and waits for Hooch to release the balls.

Vivian has always silently hated the obedience of her mother. She lets her husband control her life, allows him to tell her what she can and cannot do. It is the mark of a good wife, she always says, to respect the husband. It isn't as though Lukas Blair is cruel to his wife – he has never spoken ill of her or demeaned her verbally or physically – but he makes it clear that his word is law, and that if his wife does not obey it, he will not stand for it. And her mother doesn't disobey. She doesn't do anything at all, which is precisely the reason Vivian doesn't want to be anything like her.

Madam Hooch arrives, walking between the teams and setting the large box down on the pitch. As she bends to open it, Vivian catches Sirius's eye and he winks at her. She sends him a haughty look in response, but from the way the corner of her mouth edges up, he seems to know that she's just messing with him and grins.

What does it matter, who wins the match? She's got his poem pressed against her heart even now, unread but still there, hidden in the inner pocket of her robes. It doesn't matter what it says or how awful it ends up being (Vivian Blair would like to insert that it will obviously be awful, since he's such a shite poet) – it's still there, written by his hand, laying against her beating heart, waiting for her to unfold it.

Yes, it's still there.

"AND THEY'RE OFF – AND LLOYD HAS THE QUAFFLE, HE PASSES TO MULCIBER, INTERCEPTED BY LEIGHTON – "

Vivian darts into the air, twisting around players until she's high above them all. As the game begins below her, she starts to fly around the pitch in search of a gleam of gold, but seeing nothing yet, ends up drifting about 20 meters above the Hufflepuff stands as she studies the pitch. Across the way, James zooms about, deciding to take a more direct approach as he searches for the snitch.

"LEIGHTON PASSES TO GLADSTONE – MIDDLETON – BACK TO LEIGHTON AND SHE THROWS THE QUAFFLE – ANDDDD DAMN BLACK SOMEHOW MANAGES TO BLOCK IT, WE DON'T KNOW HOW SEEING AS HE'S SUCH A SHIT QUIDDITCH PLA – OW, OKAY OKAY I WAS JUST SHOWING MY GRYFFINDOR PRIDE PROFESSOR – "

Vivian keeps one ear on the commentary, but seeing as said commentator is a Gryffindor and is unashamedly biased, she focuses most of her attention on searching out the snitch. She'd like this match to be a quick one, but from the looks of it, she's not sure if she'll be that lucky. As usual, her teammates seems to be employing underhanded techniques, because as she's flying above the Ravenclaw stands, she sees Mulciber and Lloyd team up and attempt to roughly corner Gryffindor's chaser, Allen Gladstone, who is currently in possession of the quaffle. As she directs her broom a bit lower, she watches her teammates fly on either side of Gladstone as they try to control the trajectory of his broom. She thinks she even sees Lloyd reach out to grab said broom and force it downward towards the ground, but it happens too quickly to be sure.

She isn't the only one who sees this, though. Hooch is keeping a close eye on both teams, knowing how high tensions usually run whenever Slytherin and Gryffindor face each other on the pitch. As Gladstone suddenly loses control of his broom and drops the quaffle, Hooch blows her whistle and roars, "THAT'S BLAGGING!" from below.

Vivian rolls her eyes as the commentator shrieks, "FOUL! MULCIBER AND LLOYD ARE USING BLAGGING TECHNIQUES! GRYFFINDOR GETS A FOUL SHOT!"

The Gryffindor stands are uproarious as the game pauses. Mulciber looks annoyed that Lloyd had been caught. They seem to get into a short argument mid-air as Gladstone retakes the quaffle and heads to the Slytherin goals for his shot. Regulus hovers by the central hoop, waiting.

"GLADSTONE THROWS THE QUAFFLE – BUT AT THE LAST MOMENT REDIRECTS HIS AIM AND GRYFFINDOR SCORES! YES! TAKE THAT, YOU SNAKES! 10/0!"

Vivian groans beneath her breath. It just figures that the first score of the game would be because of a foul. She casts an annoyed look at Lloyd and flies higher over the pitch as the game is resumed. Don't get her wrong – she isn't averse to cheating when necessary, but her teammates take it to an entirely new level.

The quaffle is released back into the air and Morrigan rushes forward to grab it before the Gryffindor chasers can. She zips towards the Gryffindor goals, looking determined to score, and is quickly joined by Mulciber and Lloyd. The three of them pass the quaffle between themselves whenever one of Gryffindor's chasers attempts to steal it. They successfully make it to the Gryffindor hoops, where their Keeper, Payton, bends over his broom in preparation to block.

The Slytherin stands let out an almighty roar when the quaffle soars through the left hoop, just beneath Payton's outstretched arm. Vivian smirks widely and ducks to avoid one of the bludgers, which ricochets past her before swinging around to target the next player. With the score now even again, she feels somewhat better as she flies around the professors' stand far above the pitch. James is hovering above his fellow Gryffindors. He seems to be taking a short break to watch the match, but Vivian isn't fooled by his seemingly blasé approach. She knows he's looking for the snitch even as he joins his housemates in their groaning.

"Still think you're going to win?" Vivian calls as she hovers nearby.

James glances over at her. "Between you and me, Blair, I think you're gonna want Gryffindor to win this match." He sends her a wide grin and adds, "Sirius has the most disgusting, romantic sludge prepared for you if we win."

If Vivian is pleased to hear this, she doesn't let on. Actually, she does the exact opposite.

"He can take his romantic shit and shove it up his – " and then has to fall into a twirling duck when she nearly gets bowled over by Mauve, who calls back a quick 'sorry!' as she chases after one of the bludgers.

James cackles, "You were saying?"

Vivian sends him a haughty look, but can't quite stop the amused smile from overcoming her, so she makes a hasty escape after that lest he see. James doesn't follow her as she flies lower, a meter or so above the grassy pitch. So far, the snitch has remained out of sight, and for the next twenty minutes, it remains that way. The game continues on around her, though, becoming increasingly more bloodthirsty. Both teams are determined to win the Quidditch Cup and are stopping at nothing to do it. Even Gryffindor, who has a reputation for playing fair, isn't being entirely honorable today – not that the commentator sees it, of course.

"50/30, GRYFFINDOR IN THE LEAD!" the commentator announces, completely ignoring the way Sirius is using his Beater's bat for purposes beyond hitting the actual bludger. He 'accidentally' clips Lloy's shoulder with it as the Slytherin chaser passes him with the quaffle, and the resulting loses of balance makes him drop it entirely. Vivian throws him an annoyed look that Sirius doesn't see, because he's too busy flying out of Lloyd's range just in case he decides to attempt justice.

She wonders what romantic sludge Sirius has prepared if Gryffindor does indeed win this match. The poem is still tucked in the inner pocket of her robes and she's dying to pull it out and read it. A part of is actually hoping that Slytherin loses, just to hear Sirius Black turn into a pathetic romantic. He's certainly proven himself capable of such things through the poems he's sent her, but she is rather eager to see him express those emotions in person.

The match ends up taking far longer than Vivian had been hoping. One hour in, there is still no sign of the snitch. By the second hour, Vivian thinks she sees it for a moment, but then she realizes that it's only the flashing gold of someone's watch. Meanwhile, the two teams continue to battle it out. Tactics grow increasingly more underhanded the longer the match goes on. Several other fouls are called in, but thankfully Regulus manages to block most of them, vaulting the score to 120/130, with Slytherin currently leading.

Sirius isn't the only Gryffindor who isn't in a very honorable mood today. James keeps ducking up and down the pitch, zooming into dives and then coming up empty-handed. Vivian constantly assumes that he's seen the snitch and begins to follow him, only to realize that he's just fooling her. As the game approaches the third hour, she has a feeling this is mainly because he's getting bored. Every time he flattens into a dive, the entire stadium hangs on the edge of their seats and James seems to get amusement from it – and from the way Vivian keeps following him in said moments.

"Would you stop doing that?!" she shouts at him as he flies off after yet another dive, but James only laughs and doesn't respond.

The only good thing about this match is the fact that they are playing in great weather conditions. During Gryffindor and Slytherins' last match, it had been snowing heavily and near to impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of them. Today, however, it is warm with the approach of summer and the skies are crystal clear, with no hint of cloud. This usually make it easier to find the snitch, what with the sun shining down upon the stadium, but wherever it is, it is keeping well out of sight.

Usually, it shows itself by now, but Vivian hasn't seen any hint of it at all. At three and a half hours into the game, the score is now closing in on the 200 mark and both teams are still going head-to-head, but there is still no sign of the snitch. Vivian is growing a bit impatient at this point. She has been hoping to spend the remainder of her evening in her dormitory, trying to get a bit more studying in. On top of that, she's a bit restless due to the poem that she still hasn't read yet. Every time she turns sharply on her broom, she can feel the press of parchment against her chest.

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES AGAIN! 220/200 WITH A GRYFFINDOR LEAD! MY VOICE IS GETTING A BIT HOARSE NOW SO CAN WE PLEASE FIND THE SNITCH, SEEKERS?"

Vivian would like nothing more, but as she flies lower on the pitch and spins out of the way of several players, she still doesn't see it. She does, however, see something else.

It would be hard to miss the way Avery smacks a bludger directly at Sirius, especially since he's relatively close to her at the moment. He barely manages to duck out of the way; the bludger clips him on the arm and a short burst of pain fills his expression for a moment, but it's clear that he's alright when he starts shouting expletives at Avery's disappearing form.

Vivian is worried for only a few moments, but when she sees that he's fine, she can't help but call, "That's what you get for using your Beater's bat on Lloyd!" and zooms past him.

Sirius pauses for half a second before darting after her. "Aren't you curious what I'm gonna ask you to do when Gryffindor wins? Do you want a hint?" He flies beside her as she does a loop of the pitch and sends her a grin.

"Shouldn't you be off protecting your teammates?" she calls back, and pushes herself faster.

Sirius just laughs and pulls away, redirecting his broom back into the thick of the match and swinging his bat into the nearest bludger. Vivian snorts and continues on her way, pressing her smile into the collar of her robes. She doesn't see Mulciber watching her, doesn't notice the way he turns his head to glare at Sirius – or, indeed, the manner in which he signals to Avery and nods at Sirius's figure.

From here, winning the match becomes slightly less important; achieving vengeance becomes slightly more so. For Adrian Mulciber, anyway.

"SLYTHERIN SCORES! 210/220 WITH GRYFFINDOR STILL LEADING. STILL NO SIGN OF THE SNITCH – BUT THERE SEEMS TO BE SOMETHING HAPPENING WITH THE BEATERS!"

Everyone turns to watch as Mulciber slams into Sirius and attempts to redirect him. The next moment, Avery swings out his bat and clobbers Sirius in the back of the skull, so hard that Sirius lurches forward on his broom and nearly falls off entirely. The actual bludger has just been directed into the fray by Mauve, so Avery is able to pretend that he hadn't actually meant to knock into Sirius and was actually aiming for the bludger itself.

"THAT WASN'T A MISTAKE! THAT WAS _DELIBERATE_ – MADAM HOOCH, THAT WAS A FOUL!" the commentator screams, sounding very upset about the whole matter. But, because everything happened so quickly and the bludger was close enough to back up Avery's excuse, Hooch just throws her hands up and does nothing.

Vivian pauses mid-air to study Sirius, who looks as if he's seeing stars. The Gryffindor team calls for a time-out to assess the state of their Beater. They fly off to the side of the pitch and Vivian watches as Madam Pomfrey bustles over to see if Sirius is fit to keep playing. She doesn't get to see much of what happens though, because her own team makes use of the time-out and she's forced to fly down to the grass as well.

"Nice one, Avery," Mulciber is saying as she slides off her broom. After spending nearly four hours in the air, it feels distinctly strange to be standing on her feet again.

Mulciber leers over at her as she approaches the team and throws an arm around her shoulder. Turning his head to her ear, he murmurs, "What do you think, Vivian? Did we knock some sense into him yet?" Vivian tries to throw his arm off, but Adrian only tightens his hold of her and snickers, "Maybe that'll make him keep his filthy hands off you."

She bites back a retort and merely grits her teeth. Clearly, Adrian has forgotten what Gryffindors are like, when they feel that they've been wronged. If he thinks Sirius will let him get away with targeting him like this, he's in for a nice little surprise.

"Let's use some jinxes to get ahead," Lloyd suggests to Avery. "I'll try to unseat their Keeper while Flint and Mulciber get a few scores in."

"Okay, but Black, make sure you block the fouls if we're caught," Avery says, clapping Regulus on the back.

Regulus doesn't respond. Vivian doesn't either, when Avery glances over at her and barks, "And would you hurry up and find the snitch, Blair? I'm getting tired of this match."

Vivian only nods and remains silent, finally managing to throw Mulciber's arm off. Across the field, the Gryffindor team looks like they're ready to get back into the game and are beginning to mount their brooms, so the Slytherin team does the same. Before they get into the air, though, Vivian glances over at Mulciber and sends him a scathing look, which is promptly returned.

As the game starts back up again, it certainly seems to have taken a new direction. Winning the Quidditch Cup seems to become less important. Even Gryffindor appears to be more interested in giving Slytherin hell over actually winning the Cup. They are distinctly more ruthless than they'd been before, having apparently decided to play by Slytherins' rules instead – which essentially means not playing by the rules at all. Over the next half hour, Gryffindor gets just as many fouls as Slytherin does, and for a while, the match seems to descend into a chaotic back-and-forth of foul shots.

Sirius, especially, seems intent on getting revenge on Mulciber. Every swing of his bat seems to direct the bludgers at Mulciber exclusively. Vivian finds it a bit amusing, because Mulciber can hardly do anything at all since he's so distracted with dodging bludgers. Before long, him and Sirius seem to have gotten into a match of their own, in which Sirius continuously hits the bludgers at Mulciber and Mulciber tries to run into him and knock him off his broom. Avery, Mauve and the other Gryffindor Beater, Brent Morley, take it upon themselves to work with the other bludger and leave Sirius and Adrian to their own vindictive bludgeoning.

As the pair targets each other, the rest of the players descend into their own version of chaos. Hooch's whistle seems to sound constantly, calling out fouls on both sides with increased annoyance. Her voice is puckered with frustration the more fouls she calls, clearly unimpressed with the way the game is going.

She's the only one who is, though. The rest of the stadium i loudly cheering the teams on. Even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw have gotten into the match like never before. After a while, it becomes difficult to tell which team they're shouting at because both teams are behaving mercilessly. Vivian doesn't think she's ever heard as much noise during a match before. She thought previous games between Gryffindor and Slytherin were bad, but this is on a whole new level. Even the commentator doesn't seem sure what to say, and he always has something to complain about.

"UH, OKAY, ANOTHER FOUL HAS BEEN CALLED FOR – WHAT WAS IT? – COBBING, BLURTING, AND BLATCHING! YES, THAT'S RIGHT. SLYTHERIN HAS FOUND A WAY TO DO ALL THREE AT ONCE, WHICH – ER, I'M ACTUALLY SLIGHTLY IMPRESSED WITH TO BE HONEST. GRYFFINDOR, WHERE'S YOUR CREATIVITY, HUH?"

As the commentator gets elbowed by McGonagall, the game is put on hold yet again as three foul shots are administered by Gryffindor. Regulus blocks all three, but then Hooch calls yet another foul for Flacking when part of his elbow goes through the hoop, and Gryffindor gets yet another foul shot. He misses that one; it goes soaring through the center hoop.

"THE SCORE IS NOW 250/270 WITH A SLYTHERIN LEAD!" the commentator declares as the game starts back up yet again.

At four and a half hours in, the snitch is finally seen. James has ceased his manic diving a while ago, but the game has become so crazy that it isn't unusual for players to randomly dive out of the way of others. Mulciber and Sirius are still dead-set on knocking each other off their brooms and haven't stopped targeting each other while the rest of the game unravels around them, and Vivian's Slytherin teammates have definitely been using several underhanded spells to unseat the Gryffindor players. They haven't been entirely successful so far because of how insane the match is; their spells often miss their targets entirely due to said insanity, and after Hooch had seen one of the botched spells racing into the grassy pitch below, she'd threatened to forfeit the game to Gryffindor if they didn't play fairly. 'Fair' is a term that doesn't really apply to this game though, and her teammates haven't fully stopped; they've just been a bit more careful about it.

Anyway, due to the nature of the game, Vivian doesn't even see James fall into a dive until he's on top of the snitch, and by then, she's halfway across the field and has no chance of catching up in time. That doesn't stop her from trying, though. She flattens herself against her broom and darts forward, racing through the players in the center of the game, spinning around bludgers, twisting out of the way as she tries to reach James before he catches the snitch, which she can now see several meters in front of his outstretched arm.

"THE SNITCH HAS BEEN SEEN!" the commentator roars. "POTTER IS GOING AFTER IT! BLAIR IS TOO FAR AWAY TO CATCH UP – "

Vivian is, indeed, too far away, but that happens to be the _least_ of her worries. It is difficult to describe what happens next because Vivian herself doesn't even see it happening until it's too late to stop it. As she's darting through the center of the pitch, focusing on not knocking into anyone, something slams into her back.

Pain erupts through her. The force of the hit sends her careening right over the front of her broom. The stadium goes into an absolute uproar, but she doesn't hear much of it over the rush of wind and the pounding of blood in her ears. She lands face-first on the pitch, groaning and digging her fingers into the dirt as her spine explodes with pain.

Later, she'll realize that the loudness from the stands is due to two things: the first, because it had been Mulciber who had slammed the bludger into her, and he hadn't been covert about doing it. Morrigan will inform her of the way he'd grabbed Mauve's bat to send the bludger forward, completely unapologetic about targeting his own teammate. The other reason for the loudness, though, is because James Potter had caught the snitch, and won the game.

Vivian doesn't hear any of that, however, because all she can see is grass as she presses her face into the ground, and all she can hear is the blood rushing through her head and pounding against her skull. She vaguely thinks she hears the commentator's voice, but it sounds far away and barely there. Everything seems that way, until Mauve drops down beside Vivian's figure, followed by Morrigan and, a moment later, Sirius.

Morrigan is the only one who seems surprised at the way Sirius kneels down beside her and reaches for her hand, clearly more worried about her than pleased that Gryffindor had indeed won the Quidditch Cup. Mauve, recalling the way she had caught the two in the library some months before, only watches as he brushes some of her hair out of her face and murmurs lowly to her. It doesn't seem as if Vivian hears much of what he's saying though, because her eyes are drifting in and out of focus and there's a dazed look on her face, full of pain that grows more and more subtle as her consciousness fades.

Madam Pomfrey arrives soon after that to magic Vivian onto a stretcher and take her up to the hospital wing, and at that point, Morrigan's confusion only grows when Sirius lurches forward to grab a fistful of Mulciber's robes and punches him directly in the face. The resulting pandemonium is even more insane than the match itself.

"AND FOR SOME REASON, BLACK SEEMS INTENT ON GETTING MULCIBER BACK FOR THAT FRANKLY SAVAGE MOVE PERFORMED ON HIS OWN TEAMMATE – NICE PUNCH THOUGH, BLACK! RIGHT IN THE NOSE!"

The onset of the resulting fistfight takes much of the attention off of the fact that James had just caught the snitch. Instead of the customary cheers and celebratory laps, both teams descend into even more chaos, and James himself quickly joins in as well when he throws a fist at Avery, who is attempting to help Mulciber beat Sirius up. Because the fist he throws is currently holding the metal snitch, it seems to hurt all the more and Avery nearly gets bowled over from it.

"POTTER DELIVERS A MEAN LEFT-HOOK AND AVERY IS DOWN! I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS IS HAPPENING BUT I'M ENJOYING IT!"

Some paces away from the action, Morrigan sends Mauve a bewildered look and asks, "What the hell is going on, McCallum?"

Mauve just clears her throat and shrugs, though she sends Sirius a grin when he manages to punch Mulciber again, this time in the jaw.

Unfortunately, that's when the professors are able to reach them. Dumbledore himself casts the spell that separates both teams and, using a _sonorus_ charm, orders everyone to head back into the castle immediately. He then turns to deal with the two teams as the House Heads begin to force their students out of the stands. It takes a bit of time because none of the students want to leave – they would much prefer to stay and watch what happens. Dumbledore waits patiently, though, making it clear that he means business.

When the last students trickle off the pitch, he turns to administer judgement. He looks eerily calm as he takes them all in, looking between Mulciber's crooked nose to James's bloody lip. His eyes linger on the swollen eye Sirius is sporting and he shakes his head at them all, looking somewhat disappointed. Beside him, Madam Hooch is crossing her arms and appears much more thunderous, mumbling to herself about how neither team 'respects the rules of Quidditch'.

"Those who did not participate may leave. The rest of you will be awarded detentions for the next week," he informs them. His punishment would have surely been worse, had there been more time left in the term. As it is, there is only about three weeks before the end of the school year and NEWTs are fast approaching. Still, he sounds quite displeased with them as he peers into their faces.

"Only a week?" Hooch cries. "I should think a harsher punishment ought to be given – "

"How about they all serve detention with you, Madam Hooch?" Dumbledore wonders. "And we can finally start that project you were speaking to me of?"

This has Hooch settling down. She smiles tightly, looking a bit vindictive. Her sharp eyes scan the faces before her as she responds, "Well _that's_ more like it. I accept, Headmaster."

James hesitantly asks, "…Er, what project is that, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiles serenely at him. "Madam Hooch has expressed the desire to do some work on the stands. It will require a bit of manual labor, especially without the use of magic. Have any of you used a hammer before?" And with that, he strides off, the matter being settled in his mind. As for the others, though…

"Manual labor?" Adrian sneers. "I'm not doing manual labor!"

But one look from Hooch makes him silence himself. She looks quite angered, and it is enough to give him pause for now.

"Come on, let's get out of here," James mutters to Sirius, who is still glaring at Mulciber as if he's ready to start throwing punches again. He grabs his friend's arm and drags him off the pitch, not even bothering to go back to the locker room to change. They leave the field with the rest of their team, looking worse for wear but otherwise fine. Sirius actually looks quite pleased with himself for his black eye, evidently thinking of it as a badge of honor. Mulciber looks worse off, which makes Sirius feel even better.

"That bastard," Sirius mutters, gripping his broomstick as he storms up to the castle. "He'd better watch his back."

James grunts in agreement. As the pair heads through the doors and into the entrance hall, they find Remus and Peter waiting on one of the stone benches inside.

"That was brilliant, Padfoot!" Peter declares.

"Yeah, really great," Remus agrees, "though I'll bet you got into a lot of trouble…what's the verdict, then?"

James snorts, "A week of detention. Not that bad, really."

"Speak for yourself," Sirius returns with a deep frown. "We've got to help Hooch reinforce the stands – _without_ magic!"

"Well if you ask me, you both deserve it!" some another voice, and all four of them turn to see Lily storming forward. Her voice is upset, but there's something in her eyes that looks like worry when she catches sight of James's bloody lip. She pauses, then reaches out to turn James's face to the side to look at it closer, and mumbles, "Though I can also admit that Mulciber deserved everything you gave him, even though you shouldn't have gotten into a brawl like that…"

James catches Sirius's eye, looking quite bewildered at Lily's sudden fussing. Sirius just raises an eyebrow back and shrugs. Girls, you know? They are strange creatures.  
Before James can say something to muck everything up with Lily yet again, Sirius hands his broomstick to Remus and says, "I'm going to the hospital wing."

Remus nods, "Alright. We'll join you in a bit. I'm sure Lily wants to give James a piece of her mind first."

Remus smirks quietly as Lily begins to splutter, releasing James's face as if she's only now realizing what she's doing. When James looks over at her, though, she just purses her lips and sighs, "Come on, then. You need to go to the hospital wing too."

James smiles at her and opens his mouth to respond, but Lily quickly adds, "And if you say anything about my 'fixing' your lips for you – anything at all – I will make sure it gets worse."

James doesn't stop smiling, though. He even hooks his arm around Lily's and sighs, "I think I'll need help getting there, Lilyflower. I'm feeling really faint – I'm starting to see double, even."

That Lily only shakes her head at him and drags him forward is enough to make the other Marauders stare in shock. Well – almost all of them. Sirius only rolls his eyes and pushes past them, not looking at all surprised.

He happens to know a great deal about stubborn women by now, you see.


	59. Lege, quaso

**Chapter Fifty Nine | Lege, quaso**

**[Read, I pray you]**

Madam Pomfrey is not at all pleased. Quidditch happens to be the bane of her existence, and she certainly makes sure that everybody knows about it whenever someone arrives in her domain bearing a Quidditch-related injury. The moment Sirius, James, and Lily enter the hospital wing, she casts them one sharp look before barking, "Over there, then! You'll have to wait a moment," before disappearing behind a set of curtains and pulling them shut. Sirius only gets a brief look at Vivian before the curtains hide her figure from view.

"I was hoping I'd get to stay for a while…" he mutters, eyeing the closed curtains with a frown.

James frowns too and says, "It looked like a pretty bad hit. Pomfrey'll likely kick us out once she's patched us up again."

That certainly won't keep Sirius away, of course. He happens to be best friends with someone who possesses an Invisibility Cloak, after all. Still, Sirius's frown grows a touch deeper as he sits down in one of the chairs on the other side of the large room. After a moment, James sits down too, and Lily hovers over them as if she isn't entirely sure what she's doing.

James sends her a hopeful look and says, "You can sit in my lap if you want, Lilyflower." His eyes gleam with slight mischief even though Sirius knows full well that he's being completely sincere.

Lily sends James an unimpressed glower and forcefully pulls up a chair, sitting down in it with a scoff. "You should be happy I'm even staying at all," she informs him, and lifts her chin. "I'm only worried about Vivian, just so you know. It has nothing to do with you."

James doesn't look like he believes her. Neither does Sirius. The two of them send her sidelong looks that she ignores.

"You don't even like Vivian," Sirius points out.

Lily sniffs haughtily. "That's not true. I like her just fine."

"Really? Are you sure you're not just worried that James might never be able to kiss you with his lip all swollen up like that?" Sirius drawls. As Lily's cheeks flush just so, James kicks Sirius's chair and hisses at him to shut up.

Clearing his throat, James hastily says, "Ignore him, Lilyflower. This injury would _never_ deter me from kissing you – "

"All right! Well now that I know you both made it here, I'll take my leave!" Lily exclaims, standing up so quickly that her chair nearly falls backwards.

"But Lily, I'm still feeling faint - "

"You got punched in the _mouth,_ James," she reminds him impatiently. "There's no reason for you to be feeling faint! For Merlin's sake!"

With that, Lily stomps out of the hospital wing. James pouts at her back until the door slams closed, then turns to pout at Sirius.

"Thanks a lot, Padfoot. You scared her off," he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest with the expression of a man terribly wronged.

Sirius just snorts, _"You_ were the one who kept going on about kissing her." He's going to say something else about how it's really no wonder Lily had left, but before he can, Madam Pomfrey pulls the curtains away from Vivian's bed. Just as fast, she's turning around and pulling them back, hiding her from view before bustling over to them.

"Honestly. Quidditch. Dreadful game," she's muttering when she reaches their sides.

Clicking her tongue, she patches them up fairly quickly with a few spells that make the swelling go down. As she's patting some sort of foul-smelling poultice around Sirius's eye, he asks, "How is she? Is she awake yet? Can I see her?"

Madam Pomfrey seems surprised at Sirius's questioning. She leans back to peer at him with raised eyebrows before tsking, "Miss Blair will be fine, but she'll need rest. I've just given her a sleeping drought. You _can't_ see her – "

"Why not?" Sirius cuts in crossly.

Pomfrey sends him an annoyed look. "Because I said so!" she responds shrilly. "She has spinal damage and moving around will only exacerbate it! Lord only knows when she'll wake up – I've given her enough sleeping drought to keep her out for a few days!"

Sirius's mouth drops. "A few_ days?_ Well I can see her _tomorrow,_ right?"

Beside him, James coughs to hide a snicker. Pomfrey sends him an imperious look.

"You may see her when I decide she's ready to receive visitors! Honestly," she tuts, and then turns to jab some of the poultice onto James's lip with a fresh cloth. Due to her annoyance at Sirius's frustrated questions, her actions are less than gentle. James cringes.

"Now, out!" Pomfrey says, and just in time too, for at that moment the doors of the hospital wing swing open and the injured Slytherins come traipsing inside. Sirius and James immediately stiffen, as does Mulciber and Avery.

Madam Pomfrey lets out an impatient breath and gestures for them to step forward so that she can get a look at their injuries. Sirius sends Mulciber a drawling smirk at the dark bruise that's forming along his jaw. His crooked nose has James snickering.

"Looking good, Mulciber," James calls.

"Piss off," he snarls back, much to Pomfrey's horror.

"Get out, both of you!" she says, shooing James and Sirius to the doors. "And there'll be no language like that in my hospital wing, Mr. Mulciber!" As the doors swing shut behind them, they see Pomfrey inspecting Mulciber's nose with a frown.

Sirius scoffs and mutters, "I can't believe this. I'm sneaking back in tonight. You'd better let me borrow your cloak."

James, expecting this, agrees, "Sure thing, Padfoot. Merlin, I wonder if Blair will even remember you when she wakes up. Wouldn't that be hilarious?"

Sirius shoots him a horrified look. "She didn't get kicked in the _head,_ Prongs! Don't joke about that!"

James settles down with a cough. "Right sorry. Wow, you're really into that romantic sludge these days, aren't you?"

Sirius shoves him into the wall and doesn't respond.

* * *

Loaded up on sleeping drought as she is, Vivian doesn't wake up for two days. When she does, she has no idea where she is, at first. The memory of the Quidditch match is far away when she first opens her eyes, and it's only when she tries to sit up that it all comes rushing back to her.

"You probably shouldn't move," a voice says to her immediately right, and Vivian turns her head to see Gavin sitting in the chair beside her bed. There's a textbook propped up in his lap. He's looking at her over the top of it, stretched out in the chair as he studies her.

Vivian lets out a low groan and sluggishly mumbles, "I feel awful. What happened?"

Gavin turns a page of his book and responds, "Spinal injury. Pomfrey loaded you up with sleeping drought. You've been out for two days."

Considering the state she's currently in, it takes a few moments for her to process his words. At first, she just groans again and closes her eyes – until she realizes what he had said, of course.

"_Two days?!"_ she repeats incredulously, and tries to sit up again. A twinge of pain at the base of her neck halts her efforts though. She grimaces and moans, "Why does it still hurt after two whole days?"

It is at this moment that Madam Pomfrey arrives on the scene, bustling over to her bed with a tray of potions. She hears the question and tsks, "Magic can only do so much, Miss Blair. Here, drink this." She uncorks a vial of potion and shoves it at her, impatiently waiting for her to take it. It smells water that's been left untouched for weeks and Vivian wrinkles her nose.

Pomfrey tsks again. "You had several fractures in the spinal column. I imagine you're still sore? Well it will feel a bit tender for a few days still, but the worst of it is over. You're lucky, really. It could have been much worse."

After helping Vivian down the first potion, she has her drink another one as well, for the pain. It isn't quite as bad as the first and tastes a bit like cherry. The moment she swallows it, her whole body feels much lighter.

Madam Pomfrey sets the vials back onto the tray and bustles around the bed for a few moments, straightening Vivian's bedsheets and helping her move into a more comfortable position. As she does, she says, "You've had quite a few visitors, my dear. Everyone was eager for you to wake up."

The fact that her bedside table is full to bursting is testament enough to that. As the school nurse collects her tray and takes her leave for now, Vivian glances over to see a vase of flowers, a few cards, and more chocolate frogs than she could ever eat. That isn't all, though. Gavin shuts his book and sits up, leaning down to pick up a huge box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, an overflowing basket of Cauldron Cakes, Peppermint Toads and Treacle Fudge, and more.

"I had to move things out of the way, because I brought you some books and they wouldn't fit," he briskly informs her before dumping the candy back onto the floor beside the table.

Vivian, feeling much better after that potion, mutters, "Who the fuck decided to poison me with this much chocolate?"

Gavin sends her a look that says she ought to know better than to ask a question like that, and deadpans, "Who do you _think?"_

It doesn't exactly take much mental capability to figure out the answer to his sarcastic question. Who _else_ would send her this much candy? The Marauders are the only people that she can think of who have direct access to Hogsmeade any day they want. If she was in her right state of mind, she probably would've made a show of scoffing at this, but as it is…

"Hand me a chocolate frog, then," she mumbles, and blindly reaches toward him, feeling weirdly giddy at the thought of the Marauders caring enough about her to load up her bedside table with more candy than she could ever eat.

Gavin rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. He even unwraps it for her. As she takes a bite of it, he leans back in his chair and opens his book again, but doesn't turn to read it. Instead, he slowly says, "Sirius and James got into a fistfight for you, you know." Vivian sends him a confused look, so he goes on to explain, "The moment the game ended and Madam Pomfrey took you up to the hospital wing, Sirius went right up to Mulciber and punched him in the nose."

Now, far be it from her to disregard such information, especially considering how much Sirius Black used to hate her, but mention of the Quidditch game rather distracts Vivian. Instead of asking for a play-by-play of the apparent fistfight that was had in defense of her own honor, Vivian is a bit more concerned with the results of the match itself.

"Oh no," she groans, flopping back onto the bed. "Slytherin lost the game, didn't we?"

Gavin shoots her a strange look and responds, "Um. Vivian, I just told you that Sirius and James got into a fight for you – "

"Who cares?" she grumbles, sounding much less happy than she had seconds ago. "They're always getting into fights. I can't believe we lost the match!"

Gavin shakes his head at her, looking quite incredulous. "Yeah, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup. James has been reminding everyone every chance he gets. He nearly got into another fight with Mulciber this afternoon actually. Mulciber called him an attention-seeking arsehole."

Vivian snorts and is about to respond when her thoughts turn yet again, and she growls, "Mulciber. I'm going to fucking kill that bastard."

Gavin grumbles out an agreement and begins to explain how Mulciber had stolen Mauve's bat and sent the bludger into Vivian as she was flying across the pitch. He goes on to describe the way James had caught the snitch, just before delving into a thorough account of what had occurred directly after.

"Mulciber's nose was broken, but he gave Sirius a black eye – it turned into a bit of a brawl. A few of your teammates joined in, and the entire Gryffindor team backed Sirius up. I doubt anyone knew what they were fighting for, but they weren't about to give up the chance to punch a few Slytherins."

Vivian sighs and tries to sit up a bit further, feeling uncomfortable. As she does, she mutters, "Yeah, I'm sure that Sirius – " and then here, she falls abruptly silent.

Gavin raises an eyebrow as she looks down at the simple cotton nightdress she's wearing.

"Where are my Quidditch robes?" she demands.

Gavin, at a total loss, says, "…Er. Probably being cleaned by the house-elves?"

Vivian's face drains of color. It's such a disconcerting look on her that Gavin leans closer and asks, "What's wrong? Vivian?"

Vivian doesn't respond at first, mainly because she's a bit embarrassed that she's as upset about this as she is. It's just a stupid poem, after all. Sirius isn't even a good poet. In fact he's utter shite.

She had been really looking forward to reading it, though.

"…The poem was in the pocket," she mumbles. It's so quiet that Gavin leans forward again because he doesn't hear her, and Vivian – even more embarrassed – just coughs, "Never mind. Just tell me what books you brought."

He's still sending her a weird look when he does ("You need to read more Dickens, so I brought a few of his along – "), but doesn't pursue the subject any further, much to Vivian's relief.

Gavin stays for another half hour before he gathers up his things and takes his leave, heading off to the library to get some studying in. It's just as well, because Madam Pomfrey seems to think that she needs more rest. When she comes to check on her after Gavin vanishes through the doors of the hospital wing, she takes her temperature and asks her to try to sit up. She's in a bit of a flutter when Vivian can't quite do it on her own yet. Her spine is still sore despite it being mostly healed by now, so Pomfrey has her lie back down and orders her to get more sleep.

She doesn't, though. Once the school nurse bustles out of sight again, Vivian starts opening some of the cards that are on her bedside table, curious as to who sent them. She doesn't exactly have that many close friends who would bother with such things in her own house, after all.

_Pride,_

_We broke into Honeydukes for you as a show of Marauding loyalty. You're welcome. Get off your fat arse soon, would you?_

_\- P, P, M, W_

Vivian raises an eyebrow at this and throws it off the edge of her bed before reaching for the next.

_Vivian,_

_It's a shame we lost the game, but I'm just glad you're alright. Get well soon!'_

_\- Mauve_

Vivian smiles at that one, then tosses it away to join the other. Littering is the only thing that makes her feel better after losing the poem, you see. She reaches for the one sitting on top of the stack of books that Gavin had brought, and opens that next.

_Vivian,_

_I was almost going to bring your textbooks instead, but I figured it might be a bit obnoxious. You should really keep on top of your studies though. NEWTs are only two weeks awa – _

She tosses that one with a fond snort and reaches blindly for one of the books Gavin had brought, propping it up in her lap and starting to read. She grows uncomfortable quickly though; sitting back in the same position soon has her restlessly shifting about, trying to ignore the slight pain that accompanies each movement.

This isn't her first Quidditch-related injury, but it is certainly different from any others that she received. It's not the injury itself that's different, but what comes after.

"Pride! You're awake!" James loudly calls from across the room, much to Madam Pomfrey's indignation. She peers out of the curtained windows of her office, which overlooks the entire wing, and scowls at the Marauders' entrance. Well, to be honest, only half of the Marauders enter the doors, but even with their numbers cut down, Pomfrey still doesn't look very happy.

Vivian lifts her head quickly and sees James and Remus walking towards her. James approaches her bed faster than Remus, who is content to walk at a normal pace. Unfortunately, there's nothing actually normal about James Potter, so Vivian isn't overly surprised when he throws himself into the empty chair beside her bed and exclaims, "We thought you were a goner for sure! You kept twitching like you were having a seizure – you should've seen Padfoot's face, he turned all green. It was hilarious."

Vivian opens her mouth to tell him to shove off, but James just keeps going.

"Honestly, you should get injured more often. I mean don't get me wrong, we were all worried – you're an Honorary Marauder after all – well except maybe Peter, he doesn't like you very much if you haven't noticed – but when I mentioned to Sirius that maybe you wouldn't remember him when you woke up, his reaction was – "

"Potter."

" – Absolutely brilliant. I think you should pretend not to remember him when you see him, it would be the best prank – "

"_Potter."_

"So did you read our card? Did you like the chocolate – "

"So how're you feeling, Vivian?" Remus asks, interrupting James with a kind smile. Naturally, James keeps talking, but Vivian and Remus ignore him.

"Better," she replies shortly, throwing James a scathing look. "Tell him to shut up, Lupin."

Remus sighs, "You know how difficult it is to get him to stay quiet, Vivian. Best let him get it out."

Vivian narrows her eyes into a petulant glower. "I'm starting to get a headache," she declares.

James rolls his eyes at her. "Pride, put your injury aside for a moment and stop moaning."

Vivian tries to sit up in hopes of kicking him, but Remus puts a hand on her shoulder and gently pushes her back down. As he does, he calmly says, "Right. Well, Sirius was going to come by to see you again, but he's got detention tonight. He'll probably be by after that though."

James smirks, "We defended your honor, you know, Vivian. You should've seen the state Mulciber was in after we got to him."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Yes, and _you_ have detention too, James, so you might want to get going."

This reminder makes James sigh. "Right you are, Moony. See, Pride? Even _I _defended you. And actually – " he leans in closer and smiles widely, " – I think Lily was impressed, too. She keeps sending me _looks."_

Vivian's response to this is a very dry, "Merlin's Beard, Lily looked at you."

James grins, "I know, right?" Whether he hears her sarcasm or not, he doesn't seem to care and merely leans back looking quite smug. Well, until the bell rings, anyway.

"Bloody hell, I'm going to be late! Hooch will have my head – " he scrambles up and throws himself towards the door without a second look, though he does manage to call back, "I'll tell Sirius you asking after him, Pride!" Then he disappears before Vivian can tell him that if he does, she'll clobber him.

"That fucking idiot," she groans, and lays back down.

Remus snorts, seemingly in agreement. He takes the seat that James had just vacated. For a moment, a slightly awkward silence fills the space between them. Vivian can't claim to have ever hung around Remus Lupin before, at least not without the other Marauders descending on them in one way or another. It's definitely a little strange that he hadn't followed James out of the hospital wing. After all, despite James's declaration that she is an Honorary Marauder, Vivian hasn't made a habit of being around them.

The reason for Remus staying behind becomes clear a few minutes later, though, when he hesitantly murmurs, "Er, Vivian, I was actually hoping I could talk to you about…about that night a couple of weeks ago? When you saw…er – "

"What about it?" Vivian interrupts, keeping her eyes closed. Her voice is breezy enough to make Remus pause, seemingly caught off guard. After several moments of continued, awkward silence, Vivian heaves a sigh and turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Her expression turns a shade impatient.

Remus shifts uncomfortably in the chair and quietly says, "I know you told James that you wouldn't tell anyone that I'm a werewolf, and I know you haven't yet otherwise it'd have gone around the school by now…I guess I just wanted to tell you that I'm grateful you didn't."

Vivian stares at him. To be honest, Remus Lupin being a werewolf is the least of her worries. She hadn't even given it much thought as of late, what with everything else going on. She shrugs at him. "I've been a bit preoccupied with my own problems to bother with yours, Remus."

This is delivered in a sort of point-blank tone, which makes Remus partially relieved and partially worried. He looks at her as if he's trying to figure out what she's feeling, if she's disgusted or whatnot, but doesn't get very far before she adds, "Look, I don't care what you are. I'll keep your secret. Now can you go? Listening to Potter's incessant talking has completely exhausted me."

Remus seems taken aback again, perhaps this time at the brush-off. He raises a confused eyebrow and says, "Er, sure."

As he rises from the chair, though, Vivian grumbles, "If I really am an Honorary Marauder or whatever, it would probably go against the code to rat you out."

Remus pauses for half a second before he beams at her. She grudgingly smiles back, though she looks a little sick at having verbally connected herself to the Marauders.

With a chuckle, Remus says, "Thanks, Vivian."

Vivian just waves him off and closes her eyes again, and Remus, smiling, takes his leave.

* * *

Vivian doesn't see Sirius that evening, but she does see Morrigan and Mauve, who come down to the hospital wing after dinner is over. They have a lot to tell her. Morrigan rehashes what Gavin had already told her, launching into a descriptive explanation of how Mulciber, Avery, Lloyd, and half the Gryffindor team have all been given detention. She sounds quite pleased with this, though it's clearly coming from the more vindictive side of her nature, made all the more so because it started raining quite hard about an hour after the detention started.

"They're probably soaked to the bone," she smirks, helping herself to Vivian's seemingly endless supply of chocolate frogs.

Mauve is a quieter presence. She sits on the edge of Vivian's bed and doesn't say much, but she keeps shooting Vivian amused glances every time Morrigan starts musing over why Sirius had launched himself at Mulciber. Vivian keeps nudging her whenever she does, shooting firm looks right back at her, but it's clear that Mauve isn't about to tell Morrigan the real reason.

"Mulciber had it coming," Morrigan says as she tears open her fifth chocolate frog. "He keeps saying that he was aiming at Morley, the Gryffindor Beater, you know? But it's obvious that he was targeting you. You keep pissing him off like this, Blair, and I hate to think how he'll act when you're both married."

Vivian hedges, "Er, yeah…" and changes the subject.

It's not that she doesn't trust Morrigan, to an extent, but telling her that she has no intention of marrying Adrian clearly hasn't gotten her very far. Even though Vivian has said it countless times by now, none of her dormmates seem to believe her. They all think that she's just being dramatic and don't appear to take her very seriously. Vivian can't blame them for it though. When you are brought up knowing that you'll be paired off to another pureblood in an arranged marriage, it is just another inevitable facet of life. And Vivian, too tired and sore to get into it right now, just lets Morrigan keep talking and doesn't try to interrupt her.

Mauve had brought a few of her comics with her, which she hands to Vivian before her and Morrigan take their leave. Beside Gavin's collector's editions, they are almost obnoxiously colorful. She flips through a few of them for a while, keeping one eye on the clock, and tries to stay awake. After some time, though, the pictures start blurring together and she ends up dozing off with the comic still in her lap.

Her dreams consist of brightly colored people wearing ridiculous skin-tight costumes, battling strange creatures from other planets who all have markings on their arms, who whisper, _'My sweet, sweet Vivian…you made the right choice…'_ And as their faces turn mad, and their expression frenzied, Vivian draws in a deep breath and wakes up to the sound of something crashing onto the floor beside her bed.

She tears into a sitting position so fast that her back burns with pain. When she doesn't see anyone, she slowly begins to relax. Until, of course, a head suddenly appears in the darkness. Then, with a loud gasp, Vivian throws herself forward to scrabble for her wand, which is hidden somewhere amongst the chocolate frog wrappers that Morrigan had left on her bedside table.

"Calm down!" Sirius's voice hisses. The rest of his body appears, and Vivian sees a gauzy looking cloak suddenly drop onto the chair as he tosses it aside. "Merlin, do you want to wake the whole school?"

Vivian, her arm still stretched out towards the table, gapes at him. He raises an eyebrow as she splutters, "You – you have an _Invisibility Cloak?"_

A bolt of confusion sears through his eyes for a split second, until he hums, "I guess I never got around to tell you about that."

Vivian's mouth drops open a little bit further. She pushes herself back onto her bed and hisses, "No, you didn't." Then she puts a hand on her forehead and mutters, "Salazar. This explains so much. I _knew_ I wasn't going crazy every time I thought I heard you on my patrols."

Sirius glances over his shoulder at Madam Pomfrey's office door, which is still thankfully closed, and sits down on the edge of Vivian's bed. "Right, never mind all that. How are you feeling? You've been out for ages. You've missed all the celebrations after we won the match, too – "

"Why would I want to celebrate your victory?" she snarks, still reeling from the Invisibility Cloak.

"Well it was a great party," he tells her, then reaches for her hand and, in a quieter voice, murmurs, "So…did you read it?"

Vivian glowers at him and tries to drag her hand back, but he doesn't let her.

"No," she mutters. "I lost it."

A brief silence falls, before…

"_You lost it?"_ he repeats, loudly. Then, glancing back towards Pomfrey's office, he hisses, "I spent _weeks_ writing that poem. I can't believe you lost it!"

Vivian rolls her eyes at him and snaps, "Well it's _your_ fault for giving it to me right before the match. It's probably gone through the wash by now."

Sirius looks quite horrified at the thought. "You let my masterpiece go through the _wash!"_

"It was in the pocket of my Quidditch robes."

"But – the wash?!"

"You should've given it to me earlier."

"I couldn't. It wasn't _finished."_

"Well that's _your_ problem," she glowers, not wanting him to see how upset she is by this, too. His ego is already inflated enough.

Sirius glowers back and mumbles, "All that work I did. The countless nights I stayed up late. The number of times I had to tell James to shut up about the elements of poetry…"

Vivian sniffs and tilts her head back against the pillows. "Please," she mutters, "it probably wasn't even that good anyway."

Sirius pouts, "Well you'll never know now, will you?"

She stares at him, then clears her throat and tangles her fingers with his. Sirius glances over at her, still pouting, but his expression clears when she murmurs, "I heard you got into a fistfight for me."

A slow smirk unfurls over his face. The next moment, he's shuffling closer, making himself more comfortable against her pillows. In a smug tone, he says, "It was totally worth a week of detention. I got Mulciber right in the nose. I think it's still a little crooked, to be honest."

Vivian presses down a smile and elbows him gently, but he merely snickers and turns to face her. "How are you, though? You never said."

He studies her closely. She feels herself flush somewhat beneath his eyes, suddenly very aware of the thin cotton nightdress she's wearing and the fact that they are very much alone, for the first time in what seems like forever. There are no imminent interruptions, no other students to watch out for, no sign of Adrian or his friends lurking around the corner…it's just him and her, in the very quiet hospital wing after hours, with only the moon for company.

With a shrug, Vivian mumbles, "I'm fine. Just a bit sore."

Sirius is still looking at her, so she tentatively glances his way. What she sees in his eyes makes her breath shorten. It's dark and gentle but impassioned too, and her heart takes off in her chest.

"…That's good," he whispers after a long moment. Then, after another long moment, he hesitantly asks, "Can I…um…hold you?"

He seems rather embarrassed to be asking, which naturally makes Vivian smirk.

"I don't know. Can you?" she sarcastically wonders.

The corner of his mouth edges up into a slow smile. They stare at each other for several beats of silence before they both break out into wide grins and he slips an arm around her shoulders. Vivian, sarcasm aside, can't quite stop herself from shuffling into him, moving gingerly to avoid straining her back. Sirius gently loops an arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him, and this time it's his turn to swallow tightly.

"…Is this okay?" he whispers.

Vivian, face pressed to his collar, mumbles, "…Yes."

She feels him grin against her hair.

Silence falls again. This time, it's broken only by the ticking of the clock. Sirius lifts his hand to push his fingers through her hair. The feeling is comforting. She feels herself descend into a state of sleepy peace.

A few long minutes go by before he whispers, "D'you want to hear the terms of the bet?"

The reminder of said bet has her pulling away to stare at him. She narrows her eyes just so, and he laughs, "Don't look at me like that. I won't make you dress up as Godric Gryffindor. Actually, I was hoping that you'd…well, you can say no I s'pose, but I was…hoping…"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Yes?"

Even through the darkness, she can see the way his cheeks redden. Sirius Black very rarely blushes about anything. She lifts her eyebrow higher and waits.

"…Move in with me," he breathes.

She stares at him. Sirius looks vaguely uncomfortable. Then a smile breaks out over Vivian's face, and his discomfort turns to quiet hope, which crests tentatively over his face.

"So will you? I've got my inheritance from my uncle. I can afford that country house we were talking about before. And I know we haven't been together for that long, but we can take things slow – "

Vivian cuts him off by reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt and hauling him into her. Sirius shuts up immediately, evidently deciding that kissing her is far better than spluttering over his words.

She would have to agree. His mouth sears against hers, alighting that familiar blaze of fire through her veins. It burns with a pleasant heat that curdles through her, slow and steady, and makes her part her lips with a soft sigh. He's careful not to hurt her – in fact, he's being a little too careful, in Vivian's opinion. Somehow their legs end up tangled together, and his hand ends up fisting into the fabric of her nightdress, and her fingers end up clenched in his hair, but his movements remain slow and unhurried even as she tries to hasten him faster. He seems to be quite happy to take his time, and she both loves and hates him for it.

"Sirius," she mumbles, a complaint in her voice.

He catches her eye and pulls back just so, smirking when she sends him an impatient frown.

"Is that a yes, then?" he asks, sounding breathless.

Vivian frowns deeper and, even more impatient because he looks so frustratingly perfect, growls, "Yes – obviously – " but the rest of her sentence is cut off when Sirius grins and leans down to capture her mouth with his once more.

This time, she can't find anything to complain about.

* * *

The next morning, Vivian wakes up to a sight that she isn't expecting. Sirius had left late last night, lips bruised and eyes shining, with a roguish grin that had made her want to drag him against her again. She'd had trouble falling asleep after he'd gone, all the more impatient to get out of this bed. When she had fallen asleep, it was deep and dreamless, and she doesn't wake up until long after the sun has risen in the sky.

There are voices nearby when she awakens. She hears Madam Pomfrey and another female voice that she doesn't immediately recognize, because she's still half asleep and she doesn't expect to hear it here at Hogwarts at all. When she realizes that Pomfrey is talking about her own injuries though, Vivian opens her eyes and turns her head. The sight of her mother standing with her back to her has her immediately freezing.

Isobel Blair has never come to see her daughter in the hospital wing before, and Vivian has landed herself here plenty of times over the years. Back in fourth year, she had a particularly nasty injury involving a bludger to the head, which had put her out of classes for nearly an entire week. Even then, her mother had only written a letter to her expressing her wish for a swift recovery. Since it was peppered with comments about how proper ladies shouldn't be playing Quidditch to begin with, though, the sentiment had fallen a bit flat.

Vivian sits up gingerly. Her back twinges slightly, but it feels much better than it had yesterday, so she pushes herself into a sitting position and lays against the pillows, studying the back of her mother's head with curious eyes. Her mother looks just as perfect as ever. Her hair is twisted into an elegant bun and she's wearing her nicest cloak: a floor-length emerald garment made of a silk-wool blend that shimmers just so in the light. Beside Madam Pomfrey, she looks like a queen, standing tall and proud against the backdrop of the sterile room.

"…Mum?" Vivian croaks, her voice thick with sleep.

Her mother turns, takes one look at Vivian, and glides over to her bed.

"Darling," she murmurs, reaching out to touch her face. "I couldn't get here sooner, I'm afraid. The nurse says you'll be able to leave today."

'The nurse' tsks a bit at Isobel Blair's perceived disrespect at her title, and bustles over to Vivian's bed as well. She sends Vivian a slightly strained smile and hands her a vial of potion, which Vivian takes grudgingly.

"It's a simple pain potion," Madam Pomfrey tells her. "I've got a set of your robes here for you to change into when you're finished. You should be alright to walk around now, but don't strain yourself."

They both watch Vivian down the potion, and then Madam Pomfrey takes the empty vial and says, "I'll let you two talk, then. Come and see me if you experience any lingering pain, Miss Blair."

With that, she heads back into her office and leaves them alone. Vivian almost wishes she'd come back.

"…Dad's busy, I suppose?" Vivian wonders, glancing surreptitiously around the hospital wing in case she hadn't noticed his presence. But her father is nowhere to be found, and Vivian breathes a bit easier for it.

Her mother purses her lips and replies, "He has business at Gringotts today." Then, after a long pause, she adds, "He isn't very pleased with you, Vivian. When he received that letter about you getting into a fight with Adrian in the Great Hall…and then you lost your Prefect's badge, and…well, I thought it would be best if I came alone, in any case."

Vivian stares at her mother. Perhaps it's because of the way Sirius had come to see her the night before, but she feels strangely vacant upon hearing of her father's apparent displeasure. Her mother doesn't seem to notice.

She takes Vivian's hand and smiles, "But it's no bother. He'll come around, I'm sure, once you marry Adrian."

A burst of impatience catches Vivian in the chest then. It takes more energy than she can say to not pull her hand out of her mother's grasp.

Feeling oddly wooden, Vivian says, "Mum. I'm not going to marry Adrian."

She thought that it would be more difficult to say these words to her mother, but they are as easy as breathing. They spring from her lips almost without thought, and the moment she utters them, a light sort of feeling pervades her entire body.

The feeling is obviously not shared with Isobel Blair, though. Lifting her head to stare at her daughter, she furrows her brow and responds, "The wedding date is set. We've already made all the arrangements."

She looks confused, bewildered even. Vivian finds it strangely amusing, though that could simply be the effect of the pain potion she had just taken.

"Do you know why I'm lying in this bed at all? It's because Adrian sent a bludger at me," Vivian informs her.

Her mother's mouth parts in surprise. Evidently, she _hadn't_ known that.

"…Quidditch is a barbaric game," she reasons, still surprised, "surely, he was aiming for someone else."

Vivian snorts. "No, he wasn't. He's been furious with me because he caught me with Sirius Black."

Isobel Blair's mouth drops open fully. Vivian stares at her with a raised eyebrow. She hadn't really meant to talk about this with her mother, but she's bound to find out sooner or later anyhow, right? Besides, she'd rather get it over with right now, especially after her discussion with Sirius last night. Just the thought of him makes her courage flare up, hot and insistent in her chest.

"_Sirius Black?"_ her mother repeats. She sounds a bit faint now. "As in the boy you were betrothed to before we broke off the engagement during your first year?"

Vivian studies her mother's expression and says again, "I'm not marrying Adrian."

Her mother seems as if she's split between confusion and horror. She stares at Vivian for what seems like an age, before suddenly tightening her hold of Vivian's hand and leaning in to quickly murmur, "Vivian, your father will disinherit you. You'll be penniless. Please consider the ramifications – "

"If I marry Adrian, do you really think I wouldn't end up in a hospital bed again?" Vivian cuts in, though she doesn't draw her hand away from her mother's.

There's something in her mother's eye – some wayward bolt of understanding, that fills her voice even as she says, "But if you don't, I won't be able to help you. I'll have to cut you off. I might never see you again."

Vivian frowns at her. "So you'd sell me off to a man who'd make my life a living hell just to be able to come round for tea every few weeks."

These words seem to have an effect that Vivian isn't fully anticipating. She's never seen her mother cry before, and while she wouldn't necessarily go so far as to say that Isobel Blair is outright crying, her eyes are certainly a little bit mistier than they were moments before.

"…I understand how you feel," she begins, but Vivian doesn't let her finish.

"No you don't. Father would never hit a bludger at you just because he was angry at something you did," Vivian stiffly tells her, and this time, she does try to take her hand back.

Her mother, though, holds on tightly and admits, "No, he wouldn't. But I still understand what you feel, darling, because I – I was also…I was also in love with a boy that I desperately wanted to marry when I was your age – " She cuts herself off with a clearing of her throat, looking faintly embarrassed. Her cheeks flush lightly. Her voice is strained enough to hint that this is not easy for her to admit.

Vivian lifts her eyebrows, quite surprised.

"…You were?" she asks, not sure what else to say. Her mother, rebelling against her lot in life? She never would have thought it possible.

Her mother quietly says, "Vivian, love isn't made for us."

But Vivian refuses to believe that.

"That's not true," Vivian replies. "You're only saying that because you don't want me to live my life outside of your reach."

Her mother stares at her with tightly pursed lips.

"And what will happen when the boy you love breaks your heart? You're only _seventeen,_ Vivian. Far too young to be living by yourself – "

"Right, but I suppose getting _married_ at seventeen and living with Adrian Mulciber would be much better. Besides, you don't even know Sirius."

"Of course I know him," her mother impatiently says. "He used to run around our house with his younger brother – "

"You don't know the person he is _now,_ though," Vivian cuts in. She's getting impatient as well, and she's beginning to regret bringing this up at all.

Her mother purses her lips even more. A short silence falls, in which the only sound to be heard is the dull ticking of the large clock that hangs above the doors of the hospital wing. Vivian is loath to break the silence herself; it seems as though her mother is musing this over quite deeply, and Vivian isn't sure she wants to know what she's thinking.

She's of age, now. Her mother can't force her to do anything, least of all to get married against her will. Vivian holds this thought closely in her mind, ready to bring it forth as a hard reminder if her mother tries to convince her to follow in her footsteps again. She looks as though she wants to, but for some reason, Isobel Blair is holding onto her silence. A wane, almost sickly expression overcomes her as she on her daughter's bed and grapples onto her hand, refusing to release it.

And then, just when Vivian is starting to wonder if the silence will ever be broken, or if her mother will merely stand up and leave without bothering to bring about a conclusion to it, Isobel takes a deep breath and says, "If you do this, you father will never forgive you. He will see it as an act of betrayal against him. You will be disowned."

Vivian immediately opens her mouth to tell her that she no longer cares, but before she can, her mother quietly adds, "…Your father wants to join _Him,"_ she whispers, casting a glance around the hospital room to ensure that they are not being overheard. "But Vivian, you are my daughter, and I only want you to be safe."

Vivian stares in bewilderment. It's obvious that she hadn't been expecting to hear this. Her mother grimaces out another halfhearted smile and breathes, "I would prefer it if you married Adrian, but…but if this is your wish, I will not stand in your way." She takes a breath and continues in a shaky voice, "But you cannot come to me for help, Vivian. I won't be able to give you any. The moment you leave our household, your father will view you as a blood traitor, and I will stand behind him."

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Vivian nods quietly. Her mother studies her face. It feels as if she is trying to memorize it, to press it into her mind's eye. To hold it there, where it will be safe and untouched – by time and misfortune and the taint that living sometimes brings, when you are least expecting it. But Isobel Blair _is_ expecting it, because after all, she has lived many more years than Vivian, and while she may not be as brave or as independent as her daughter, she has much experience with the toll of time. The way it strips you down to the bones that exist below the surface. The way it transforms you into a person you never thought you'd ever be. But there is already a transformation at work in her daughter's eyes, and Isobel sees it there, lingering in the shadows. What course it will take, and how it will brim to the surface, is impossible to know, but it's there all the same.

"Very well, then," her mother whispers, still staring at Vivian, still memorizing. "You have made your choice. Now you must find the strength to live with it."

Vivian doesn't say anything in response. A part of her feels a bit affronted at her mother's words. After all, she thinks she's already strong enough. She thinks can already navigate the challenges that her new life will inevitably bring. If Sirius is by her side, she can do anything.

Of course, this is precisely the obstacle, and though Vivian Blair could not know it yet, she will have to find more than just her strength in the times to come.

"I will inform your father of your decision," her mother breathes. "And Vivian…" she waits until Vivian glances up at her before saying, "…I love you."

It isn't until these words are said that Vivian feels the finality of this moment. Her mother does not often bandy such sentiments about without reason. The reason this time is, of course, that she doubts whether she will ever see Vivian again, and the realization of this is a cold wave that blusters between them and makes Vivian's throat close up. She never had the close relationship with her parents that some of her classmates have, but this is still her mother, and saying goodbye is never easy.

Her voice is a bit shaky as well, when she murmurs, "…I love you too."

Her mother squeezes her hand tightly for one lingering moment, before she nods and says, "We'll see each other again, I'm sure of it." But she doesn't look quite as sure as sounds, and as she releases Vivian's hand and stands up, Vivian nearly follows her.

Her mother doesn't say goodbye. She doesn't say anything at all. Instead, she just gazes down at Vivian for one last, lingering moment, before nodding again and sweeping from the hospital wing. Vivian watches until the edge of her emerald cloak vanishes from sight, feeling oddly frozen as she sits there, hanging upon her mother's final words.

* * *

It is all well and good, being brave in the moment, but once that moment passes, Vivian is left with the feeling that her world has been shaken into something unrecognizable to her. As she makes her way to the Slytherin common room after Madam Pomfrey gives her permission to leave the hospital wing, the feeling only grows with each step she takes.

The castle is quiet. Her fellow students are in class, and the corridors are eerily deserted. She sees no sign of anyone on her way downstairs, but she knows that the halls won't be empty for very long. It is nearing the midday break, when lunch will be served and the Great Hall will be filled once more. The thought only makes her walk faster, wanting to make it to her dormitory before the bell rings.

She is dressed in a pair of her school robes that Madam Pomfrey had sent for, with Gavin's borrowed books tucked beneath one arm and a handful of chocolate frogs filling up a pocket. Her thoughts continuously churn with her mother's voice, which spins over and over as if it is stuck on repeat within her mind.

_The moment you leave our household, your father will view you as a traitor to his name, and I will stand behind him._

_You have made your choice. Now you must find the strength to live with it._

_You will be disowned._

Losing her inheritance hadn't seemed like such a terrible thing, when her and Gavin had been sitting atop the astronomy tower together and he had asked her what was more important to her. Suddenly, though, it seems like quite a _stupid_ thing to do. She is essentially throwing her lot in with a boy who had promised her a place beside him, but what if Sirius decides that he had made the wrong choice in asking her to live with him? What if, after a few months, he realizes that he doesn't love her after all – that this thing that exists between them can only survive within the walls of Hogwarts itself? That, by shifting it to a new location, and into a new form, it loses some of the shine that the glamour of their school years has bestowed upon it?

Sirius himself had admitted that they haven't been together for very long, but Vivian would go further and point out that they haven't actually been together at all. Their ill-defined relationship has been grudgingly built upon insults and hatred, and what few moments they have shared upon walking beyond that threshold are flimsy at best. How could it possibly stand the test of time? After all, they don't truly know each other, not in the ways that they ought to. The small details of Sirius Black's persona are yet a mystery to her, and isn't such knowledge crucial when two people decide to merge their lives together?

Vivian Blair doesn't take risks very much, least of all risks that lead to something as permanent as disownment. By the time she reaches the Slytherin common room and mumbles out the password, her hands are beginning to shake and she finds herself wishing that she could recall her mother and tell her that everything she said had been nothing more than a joke.

She drifts through the common room, hardly noticing anything around her. The Black Lake is a bit brighter today, what with the glorious sun that beams down upon the grounds. It sheds its rays within the lake, turning it to a murky greenish hue. If Vivian was looking, she'd see the Giant Squid floating in the distance, but she doesn't turn her head to the windows, and merely descends the stairs into the girl's dormitories. Her thoughts are still full and reeling by the time she steps into her room, but they all fall away when she sees what's sitting on her bed.

It's not the sight of her freshly laundered Quidditch robes that has her scrambling forward, but what is sitting on top of them: a folded piece of parchment, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand.

The house-elves must have salvaged it for her upon finding it tucked into the inner pocket. It looks just as it had when Sirius had given it to her beneath the stands of the Quidditch pitch. It's slightly wrinkled at the corner, but otherwise in perfect condition, evidently having not gone through the wash after all. When Vivian sits down on her mattress and hurriedly unfolds it, the ink is not water-logged or illegible, but perfectly readable. And – she does read it, immediately, with hands that still shake just so:

_Vivian,_

_Mountains don't fall from a gentle spring breeze,_

_Nor do the seas part when you speak to me,_

_Not does the earth shake upon seeing thee;_

_Your presence is not quite so vast._

_This feeling I have is not measured in prose_

_That the poets have used countless times to compose_

_The singular depth that only love knows;_

_A feeling that's yet unsurpassed._

_This is not a love that burns like a fire,_

_And claims in its wake all the force it requires_

_To set it in motion, then promptly retires,_

_Before it can truly begin._

_And so, when I say you have no effect,_

_It isn't because you've failed to project_

_The beauty you surely must know you possess,_

_Not only outside, but within._

_The mountains don't fall, the seas do not part,_

_Because Vivian, you've already captured my heart,_

_And not even those things could take that apart,_

_For my soul is too full of you._

_When the earth shakes, and time passes away,_

_When the years darken, and our youth decays,_

_Even then will I love you, on those future days,_

_And that, Vivian, is the truth._

Her heart gives a loud, bracing thud, and all at once, the thoughts that have plagued her since leaving the hospital wing fade away, as if they have been captured by an errant gust of wind and torn asunder. She reads the poem again, and once more after that, and upon the third read, the school bell rings through the castle and Vivian finds herself standing up almost mechanically, without thought or consideration to what her body is doing. No, the thoughts come later, when she is standing in the doorway of the Great Hall some minutes after, the poem still clutched in her hand.

Now, let it be remembered that Vivian Blair is not brave, nor is she a risk-taker, or indeed the sort of person who recklessly breaks ranks without due calculation to the consequences of her actions. Let it also be remembered that Sirius Black is the exact opposite, far more reckless than her and accustomed to expecting the unexpected. With all of this in mind, however, not even Sirius could ever expect what ends up happening, when he had initially sat down at the Gryffindor table some minutes prior to dig into a hearty lunch.

Well, perhaps it would be more apt to say that the entire school would never have expected what ends up happening, because the moment Vivian marches towards him, everyone naturally assumes that she is itching to pick a fight. Fighting, though, is not what is currently on her mind.

Slytherins do not usually make a habit of seeking out attention in the way that Vivian is now doing, but – well, she is, after all, only human, and sometimes the lines between houses are blurred and complex things, and even occasionally fall away entirely.

"Pride," James greets when he sees her approaching their end of the table. "When did you leave th – oh. _Oh."_

The reason for James's bewildered verbiage (or there lack of) is due to this:

Vivian, upon arriving at the Gryffindor table, promptly shoves Peter out of the way, sits down in the spot that he had just been occupying, reaches over to grasp a rather confused looking Sirius, and drags him into a kiss that shocks the entire Gryffindor table – and, soon, the hall at large – into complete and utter silence. This itself being a feat of great caliber (as Gryffindors, more often than not, have a rather ghastly habit of never being able to shut up), it is made all the greater when Sirius (who has a very solid reputation for never dating, messing around with, or paying homage to Slytherins), promptly wraps an arm around Vivian's waist and hauls her into him without hesitation. If the kiss itself isn't enough to make the Great Hall stop and stare, the grin that quickly overcomes Sirius's face most certainly is, especially when he sees what Vivian is holding.

"And you said I'm not a good poet," he murmurs to her, looking a bit smug.

Across the way, James, whose eyebrows are trying to blend in with his hairline, says, "Why didn't Lily kiss _me_ like that when she read _my_ poem? Lily, why didn't you – "

But Vivian doesn't hear the rest of James's pouting complaints, because Sirius is too busy whispering, "You do realize you've just kissed me in front of the entire school, don't you? I thought we were going to lay low until graduation."

Vivian pauses, carefully folds the poem back up, and shrugs halfheartedly. "I reckon it'll be okay. I mean, there's only two weeks of school left."

Sirius grins at her, throws an arm around her shoulders, and reaches over to grab her a clean plate.

"Two weeks till we can start our lives, you mean?" he breathes into her ear as he pours her a goblet of pumpkin juice.

And Vivian, trying not to flush, merely clears her throat and reaches for a sandwich.


	60. Dum vivimus, vivamus

**Chapter Sixty | Dum vivimus, vivamus**

**[While we live, let us live]**

The last week of school before exams passes with surprising ease. There is a noticeable increase in attention paid towards Vivian from the other houses, but it is overshadowed by the exams that are suddenly upon them. Fifth and seventh years spend the days leading up to them in a state of study-induced panic. They can be found in the library going over their study schedules before breakfast; and at mealtimes, their lips silently reciting the Five Laws of Human Transfiguration while they make their tea; and in the common room with textbooks stacked all around them, fervently copying notes and hoping that by doing so, they will be impressed upon the mind.

With two weeks set aside just to sit the exams, the schedule is hectic, to say the least. McGonagall explains it to them during class one day, but since they've already done this before two years ago when they had sat for OWLs, there isn't much to instill upon them. Each Head of House is responsible for passing out their students' exam schedules. Vivian gets hers during breakfast some days after.

She is pleased to see that her first exam is Ancient Runes, her favorite subject. Sitting for the written exam will be easy enough, and she knows from experience (having started taking Ancient Runes in fifth year) that the practical exam will be a breeze. She's confident in her understanding of the subject and isn't overly concerned. It's Transfiguration that she's a bit worried about, having never quite mastered the subject as some of her classmates have. There's just something about turning mice into teacups that baffles her; she's never understood the point of it all. She'd scraped by with a passable Transfiguration OWL back in fifth year, but she'll want to get more studying in before she sits for her NEWT exam.

Gavin makes for a wonderful studying partner. Somehow, he manages to draw up a study schedule for them both after he takes a look at the order of her exams. They share many of the same classes, so they spend evenings together in the library, passing textbooks back and forth as they quiz each other in quiet undertones.

"The wand movement for the tracking charm," Vivian whispers to him.

"A quick jab followed by a diagonal swish," Gavin hurriedly responds, gesticulating with his hand. He glances down at the textbook in his lap and murmurs, "The ingredients of Veritaserum."

"Powdered moonstone, adders fork, jobberknoll feathers…"

And so it goes. By the end of the first week of nonstop studying, Vivian can't wait for exams to be over, and they haven't even begun yet. Gavin is an efficient taskmaster, if not a bit overzealous.

"Are you still planning on applying to that school in Norway?" Vivian asks him one afternoon as they are setting up their things at their usual table. The library is filled with quietly murmuring voices as other students bunker down to study.

"Yes, I'm hoping to send my application off soon," he responds. He checks their study schedule for the tenth time since sitting down, as if he wants to double-check that nothing has changed in the handful of seconds since he'd last looked. "Of course, it all depends on my NEWT results, but Professor Flitwick seems confident that I'll get in."

"I think you're crazy for even bothering," she tells him fondly, but doesn't really mean it.

Gavin sniffs, "It's completely normal for muggles to further their education after they finish secondary school. I personally think it ought to be more standardized in the wizarding world." Then, eyes gleaming excitedly, he adds, "Plus, they've got a world renown Arithmancy and Ancient Runes department, what with the Viking history and all."

Vivian merely hums, having heard this all before, and successfully distracts him by asking what happens when you combine the runes Isa and Eihwaz. Gavin nearly trips over himself to answer, talking so fast that his words blend together.

* * *

Though NEWTs have overshadowed much of the gossip surrounding Vivian and Sirius, it hasn't completely squashed it. It doesn't help that Sirius is making no effort to curb said gossip. Whenever Vivian isn't studying with Gavin, the Marauders take up the rest of her time. After the very public kiss, Vivian no longer cares one way or the other if she's seen with them. They can often be found sitting beneath the large beech tree by the Black Lake, looking entirely unconcerned with the fact that NEWTs are nearly upon them. Their approach to the upcoming exams is far more laid back than their fellow classmates, with the exception of Remus and Peter. The former is constantly brushing up on his knowledge of various subjects and attempting to wrangle his other two friends into studying with him; the latter seems to have taken NEWT-panic to a new level and often looks very pale and nervous whenever Vivian sees him. Of course, she isn't entirely sure if this is because of the exams themselves or because of her presence. Peter still hasn't warmed up to her and she doubts he ever will.

As for her own house, many of the other Slytherins have yet to decide what they think about the latest gossip surrounding Vivian and Sirius. To be honest, most of them don't care all that much either way. In fact, some of her younger housemates have begun to look at her with a sort of envious idolism, as if they think that by garnering the attention of Sirius Black, she has somehow become ten times cooler than before. Vivian naturally has mixed emotions about this. On the one hand, she thinks it's annoying, because after all, Sirius isn't _that_ incredible; on the other, she finds herself almost enjoying the attention, if only because the reason for it is slightly amusing. Who would have thought that kissing Sirius Black would incite such reactions?

It isn't the reactions from the general population of Slytherin house that she worries about, though, but the ones that are a bit closer to home. Self-preservation has taken on a new definition, and the effects of it are curious, to say the least.

"How did you do it?" Rosalind demands the evening after Vivian had shocked the school by kissing Sirius in the Great Hall. There is a burning sort of look in Rosalind's eye as she stares at Vivian from across the dormitory, as if she thinks that Vivian has become someone that Rosalind no longer knows, and is reeling from the effort of distinguishing the two versions of her.

Vivian knows exactly what Rosalind is asking, but she still pretends not to when she drawls, "How did I do what?"

Morrigan snorts and sends her a look that tells her she isn't convinced at Vivian's attempted ignorance. She sits up on her bed and raises an eyebrow. "Come on, Blair. We all want to know what you did to make Sirius Black go back on his conviction to never mess around with Slytherins." She pauses, studying Vivian's composed expression with a curious look, and purrs, "Did you seduce him in an empty classroom?"

Rosalind gasps, "Did you spend all those detentions snogging him after all?"

Morrigan smirks, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Rosalind, you might be onto something…"

Across the way, Narcissa flips a page of the textbook she's looking through and doesn't say a single word.

"Shove off. As if I'm telling you lot anything," Vivian mutters, casting a quick glance at Narcissa's seemingly inattentive form. Despite the fact that Narcissa seems to be utterly detached towards the current conversation, Vivian knows better. Her dormmate is no doubt listening very closely.

Rosalind, who is a half-blood and had not grown up with the same strict pureblood expectations that the rest of them have, sighs, "I just can't believe you got Sirius Black to kiss you in front of the entire school."

Morrigan, still eyeing Vivian, adds, "Where're you going, anyway?" as Vivian heads to the door.

With one last glance over at Narcissa, Vivian replies, "I wanted to talk to Slughorn before curfew. I'll be back later."

Morrigan raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn't have time to remark on the fact that Vivian had just spent a little more time making herself presentable just to go speak to their Head of House. Vivian is already slipping out of the dormitory before any further words can be exchanged.

"…She's going to go snog Black in a broom cupboard," Morrigan says decidedly.

Rosalind glances shrewdly at the door that Vivian had just closed and hums, "She _did_ take an awful long time to brush her hair just now…"

Narcissa merely flips a page of her textbook and lifts her chin slightly, remaining silent…until of course Morrigan drawls, "What do you think of this development, Cissy?"

Upon hearing the despised nickname, Narcissa throws her a pointed glare and responds, "If Vivian wants to get herself killed, then I'm not going to stop her."

Morrigan's eyebrows lift slightly at the scathing tone. She exchanges a brief glance with Rosalind before saying, "Oh come on. She won't get herself killed. You're being dramatic. The term is nearly over. What's the worst that could happen?"

Even as she says this, though, she doesn't sound overly convinced. A heavy silence falls upon the room.

"I'm not talking about school," Narcissa mutters, before standing up and snapping her book shut. The next moment, she's opening her closet to pull out a pair of pajamas.

"…Maybe Narcissa is right," Rosalind says, but none of them, not even Morrigan, respond to this.

* * *

Maybe Narcissa _is_ right, but Vivian wouldn't have cared one way or the other at the moment. Some things are worth taking risks for. Still, she can't deny that after a few days of endless gossip, being the center of attention is starting to get a bit annoying.

"I _knew_ he liked her," Marlene McKinnon whispers to one of her friends at the back of Transfiguration some days later. "When we went to Hogsmeade together, all he did was stare at her like some weird stalker."

Vivian's eyebrow twitches. She shoots Sirius a look from several desks down, to which he clears his throat and pretends not to notice.

"I don't really see it, to be honest," Marlene's friend whispers back as McGonagall once again imparts the importance of NEWTs upon them all. "I mean, I thought he didn't go for Slytherins."

Sirius turns in his chair to catch their eye, trying to make them shut up. Vivian only smirks, and glances at Mauve, who she has taken to sitting next to, since the rest of her house doesn't seem to know what to make of her these days. Mauve snickers a bit under her breath, also amused at Sirius's latest plight.

Marlene, apparently not noticing Sirius's rather obvious attempts to catch their eye (Vivian suspects she's faking), responds in a loud whisper, "Nothing Sirius does _ever_ makes sense."

"Oi, that's not true!" Sirius exclaims, much to McGonagall's annoyance.

"Mr. Black, pay attention!" she barks at him, but noticeably doesn't take any points away for his interruption. She's obviously looking to win the House Cup. Gryffindor is currently behind Slytherin by about fifty points (Vivian likes to think that her time as prefect helped her house's current lead), and with only days before graduation, the Head of Gryffindor House is clearly hoping that this will turn around.

Marlene shoots Sirius an amused look and descends into quiet laughter with her friend. Sirius huffs at them but ultimately turns around and 'pays attention' once more. Of course, his version of this is to doodle in the margins of Potter's textbook, but McGonagall seems to have decided that at this point, he will never change, and she doesn't call him out on it.

"Now, I know you are all excited to be embarking upon a new journey outside of Hogwarts," McGonagall says, drawing everyone's eyes back to her, "but I must stress the importance of receiving good NEWTs. Yes, Miss McKinnon, it is far more important that gossiping about the latest drama regarding the incident in the Great Hall several days ago – "

Vivian feels her face heat up as students turn to glance her way. Mauve nudges her with a snicker.

" – Mr. Black, please stop looking at Miss Blair," McGonagall suddenly adds, though she sounds slightly more amused than annoyed this time around.

Vivian's face grows a touch darker, but Sirius merely winks at her before turning back around in his seat, clearly not embarrassed. Beside him, James sends Vivian a grin.

The other professors seem to share McGonagall's subtle amusement at the fact that Vivian and Sirius being together is currently one of the only things people can talk about.

"We will spend this class going over some of the potions that you will be tested on in your examinations," Slughorn announces later that day, when everyone files into the dungeon classroom. The blackboard behind him has a lengthy list of some of the more challenging potions that they have learned over the year. After he tells everyone to get started on whichever potion they need brushing up on, he noisily adds, "Ah, and you two lovebirds can sit over here, since I have several things I wanted to speak to you about, Miss Blair."

Vivian's face heats up once more, mainly because the entire class glances over and promptly breaks out into more gossip. Sirius snorts in amusement at her red cheeks and murmurs, "I don't know why you're so embarrassed. I think this is hilarious."

Vivian only rolls her eyes at him and sits down at the desk with a huff. "That's because you're an idiot," is her only reply, which is, admittedly, somewhat lacking. She's a bit distracted to come up with anything better, because Slughorn is bustling over with a sheaf of parchment in his hand.

"Here we are," he says, handing it to her. As he does, he notices that the class's attention is still primarily on them, and loudly says, "Get to work, now!"

Vivian turns the parchment over with a raised eyebrow. Beside her, Sirius peers at it as well, and wonders, "What is it?"

Slughorn clears his throat and quietly says, "A letter from your mother, Miss Blair. She sent it to me in hopes that it wouldn't attract attention…I understand that you're in a bit of a sticky spot at the moment. But I, for one, am excited to see what you will go on to do, now that you'll be going your own way! I'm sure you'll be quite successful!" He sends Vivian a hopeful grin and she bites back a snort. Honestly. Slughorn and his connections.

Vivian shoves the letter into her school bag to read later. When she does find a moment to open it, though, she's a bit disappointed with her mother's message.

_Vivian, _it says,

_I have informed your father of your decision. He did not take the news well. He is even now in the process of going through the family will. I'm afraid I don't have time to say much, but if you ever decide that you have made the wrong decision and would like to return home, I will do what I can to convince him to take you back in. _

_Isobel Blair_

Vivian stares at the short letter for a few moments before shoving it back into her school bag and continuing on her way, gritting her teeth slightly at her mother's last sentence. When Sirius asks what it says later on, she leaves that part out.

She has no intention of ever going back home.

* * *

The only people who do not seem all that interested in gossiping about Vivian and Sirius are the very people who Vivian thought would gossip the most. Mulciber, of course, makes sure to send her dark looks whenever he sees her, but doesn't bother her beyond this. Whenever Vivian passes him and his friends in the hall, they seem to have other things to discuss, and she can guess as to what they are. With the end of school around the corner, it's all too obvious what sort of plans they are making.

She's a bit surprised that Adrian seems to have written her off, but that appears to be exactly what he's doing. Between the events of their duel in the Great Hall and the final Quidditch match, he seems to have decided to take a step back. Perhaps he's afraid that making another move towards her will capture more attention than it's worth. Vivian finds this excuse flimsy though. Adrian clearly doesn't care about attracting attention.

But the thing about Slytherins is that they take their revenge very seriously, and when he passes her in the common room several days before NEWTs, he quietly sneers, "I hope you don't think that the blood traitor will protect you after Hogwarts, Blair."

Vivian doesn't respond. She merely waits for Mulciber to take his leave and returns to flipping through her textbook, trying to press down the ill feeling quietly curdling through her stomach. With so many things to distract herself with, she would have succeeded…had someone not taken a seat beside her on the couch in front of the emerald fire. She knows exactly who it is before he even speaks.

"…You know, you should take him more seriously," Regulus murmurs.

Vivian frowns. She can feel his eyes boring into the side of her head, but she doesn't turn to look at him even as she mutters, "What do _you_ care?"

Regulus pauses, but he can't possibly be taken aback at her tone. The last few months have seen their friendship crumble, leaving them at opposite sides of a chasm too great to cross, at least for now.

"I do care about you," he murmurs after several long beats of silence. "You know that."

This time, Vivian does lift her head. Their eyes clash; brown and grey, quiet fire and dark iron.

"I wish things had gone differently," he admits to her after another long moment.

Vivian swallows tightly, and admits, "I do too."

The barest ghost of a smile touches his eyes, though it makes no change to his expression at large. His face is otherwise void of emotion as he stands up and steps away. Vivian doesn't call him back. He's made his choice, and she's made hers.

* * *

NEWTs are upon them before Vivian knows it, but as the seventh years file into the Great Hall to take their first exam, she finds that she's more excited than most of her classmates seem to be. The days leading up to them have been hectic, to say the least. Breakdowns have been had by many of the upperclassmen, and Madam Pomfrey has been bustling about handing calming droughts around like spare sickles. Vivian is pleased to say that she hasn't had need of one, and indeed, that if she had, the Marauders would have no doubt had an absolute brilliant time making fun of her. The days before NEWTs, they'd spent more time lounging about outside the castle than studying. In James's opinion, they've already crammed as much as they can into their heads anyhow.

"Seeing as your brains are so small, that isn't very surprising," Vivian had dryly told him, much to Sirius's amusement.

In any case, Vivian is excited to sit down for her NEWTs. Not because she enjoys exams, of course, but because once they're dealt with, she can leave Hogwarts once and for all. She feels none of the bittersweet sadness that the rest of her classmates seem to feel at leaving this stage of their lives behind. The future looks bright to her, far brighter than it otherwise would have been. Not even the war going on outside of Hogwarts can dampen her excitement.

Sirius had taken her aside several days before to inform her that the Potters had invited her to stay at their house until Sirius and her find a place of their own. While the thought of being in such close quarters with James had made her groan, Sirius seems confident that they'll only be staying for a short while.

"Mrs. Potter's already on the hunt for us," he eagerly tells her. "She's an angel, I swear."

Even now as she sits for her written Potions exam, and ponders the correct distribution of powdered asphodel in the Draught of Living Death, Vivian feels herself smiling slightly as she glances at the person sitting in front of her. Sirius is bent over his exam, his head resting lazily on his arm as he scrawls out the answer to one of the questions. His hair, now nearing shoulder-length, falls in soft waves over the sleeve of his button-up, and Vivian can't quite help herself from becoming ever so slightly distracted. A very quiet smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she turns her eyes back to her parchment, takes up her quill, and continues on.

* * *

The last week of school is an absolute breeze. The moment NEWTs are over and done with, the only thing left to do is wait to hear what their results are, which won't be issued until the summer. In the meantime, the professors take a far more lackadaisical approach with their classes. The difference is night and day; the moment NEWTs are done, they no longer seem to mind if their students pay any attention to them at all, and more often than not, simply sit back and don't bother trying to teach them anything new. Some of them make an effort, of course, but they don't get much accomplished.

McGonagall uses her time to speak with students about the next step in their career paths, advising them on what they ought to do and who they need to get into contact with, once their NEWT results are posted. Slughorn takes a similar approach, bandying out connections left and right ("And here, Wilson, if you send an owl to Ernest Shenton, I'm certain he can help you get an interview. He's very high up in the Ministry and a good friend of mine – just make sure you tell him I gave you his address!").

In Professor Sprout's classes, she pushes open the doors of the greenhouse to let the summer sunlight inside, and spends half the class teaching before sending her students off to enjoy the fresh air. Professor Gillanders attempts to get some proper teaching in, but seeing as most of it is reviewing the material on the uses of combined runes, which most of her students seem to find a bit boring, she doesn't get much accomplished. After a few classes, Gillanders ends up telling her students very outlandish Welsh folk stories instead, which Vivian is quite sure have been generously embellished. Professor Anderson's approach is by far the most popular. He merely treats his class as if it's a study hall, and even props his feet up on his desk and pulls out a book, leafing through it while his students chatter amongst themselves.

When the students aren't sitting in classrooms, most of them take advantage of the bright summer weather by lounging near the Black Lake. Even Gavin comes down to join Vivian on one such afternoon, though he doesn't stay for very long before he heads off to the owlery to send his application to the school in Norway. The school is located somewhere deep within the mountains of Norway, and he spends quite a lot of time worrying about whether his owl with be able to get there alright. The Marauders think he's insane for wanting to continue his schooling. In their opinion, there's absolutely no reason to torment oneself with even more homework.

Speaking of, the Marauders seem to be concocting some great and elaborate end of school prank, which they won't let Vivian in on because they don't want to 'spoil it for her'. She's asked Sirius about it, but he refuses to tell her about it and merely turns the topic to their other prank, of which Vivian has finally agreed to be a part of, albeit somewhat grudgingly. But with NEWTs finished with and only days left before they leave the school for good, Sirius finally decides to put their plan into action.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" James asks, sounding somewhat confused. He glances sideways at Vivian, who had only just cornered him outside the Great Hall, where he was about to sit down for dinner. Now, usually, James Potter keeps his priorities straight, and lives by the adage 'food before pranks, unless said prank is too good to pass up' (said adage was brought to you by means of Wormtail, who wishes to express that it is very rare for a prank to be better than food, in his most humble opinion). Seeing as the expression on Vivian's face seems to harken a sort of panicked look, though, James figures that he ought to get to the bottom of it before venturing any further. As the leader of the Marauders, he has responsibilities, you see.

Vivian shoots him another panicked look and points towards the great staircase. "It's Evans. I think she needs your help, Potter. I saw Snape trying to talk to her just now, and he was with Rosier and Avery."

As expected, this makes James straighten up. He doesn't even ask which part of the castle his Lilyflower is in before rushing towards the stairs and taking them two at a time. Vivian, who hadn't quite anticipated him to run off without further explanation (thoughtless Gryffindors, honestly), rolls her eyes and hurries after him.

"Don't you want to know – " she begins.

"No time for talking, Pride!" James calls back, searching for something in his pocket. He appears to come up short, though, and mutters out a curse before twisting back to face Vivian. "Actually, never mind. Tell me where she is."

From the determined gleam in his eyes, it's obvious that he means to swoop in and save the day. She is therefore quite unimpressed, but for the purposes of her plans, only sighs and says in a bored voice, "Fifth floor, in the classroom next to that portrait of the grazing hippogriffs."

James doesn't even question why this is apparently happening inside an empty classroom. He merely pulls out his wand (a bit prematurely, in Vivian's opinion) and bolts up the staircase. She sighs again and makes to follow, at a slightly slower pace.

It turns out to be pathetically easy. She's not sure why Sirius thought it would be difficult to lure Potter into an empty classroom and lock him inside. Not that she thinks James is actually an idiot, but where it concerns Lily, he is a bit stupid. She can't complain, though. The faster this is dealt with, the sooner she can say that she's fulfilled whatever Honorary Marauder bullshit Sirius had been spewing before.

"Are you ready, Pride?" James calls back to her as he advances on the door near the grazing hippogriffs. He's breathing hard from running up the stairs so quickly. His hair is sticking up even more than usual.

Vivian snorts quietly to herself and drawls, "I'll be right behind you, Potter."

True to her word, the moment James runs into the classroom, prepared to fight off nonexistent opponents, Vivian casually swings the door shut and puts an immobulus charm on it to prevent him from trying to push it open. Then, leaning against the stone wall beside the door, she crosses her arms and snickers as she hears James asking what she's doing. His attempts at removing himself from the classroom are quite fruitless.

"Honestly. He should be thanking me for this," she mutters to herself, waiting. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait for very long.

She isn't sure what Sirius had said to Lily to get her to follow him up here, but the two of them appear only a few minutes later, walking quite fast down the corridor. When Lily looks up and sees Vivian leaning against the wall, she gasps, "Vivian! Good thinking, sending Sirius to get me. Are they still in there, then? I was going to get a professor, but Sirius said there wasn't time."

Vivian lifts an eyebrow, shoots a questioning glance over at Sirius, and shrugs, "Sure."

Lily doesn't appear to notice the sarcastic tone of Vivian's voice, because the next moment, she hears James yelling from within the classroom and she exclaims, "I can't believe Potter's here first! I would've thought _he'd_ be the person _behind_ this!" Then, pausing, she narrows her eyes at the door and mutters, "Unless he _is_ the person behind this…" and storms towards the door.

Vivian puts a hand up before she can reach for the doorknob, though, and calmly explains, "Hold up, Lily, I just need to take the spell off the door for a moment…"

Lily nods, looking viciously pleased. "Good thinking," she says again, "keeping Potter locked up in there…just wait till I get my hands on him…"

Vivian, again, shoots Sirius a questioning glance, but just like the first time, he only raises an eyebrow back at her and doesn't attempt to explain. Shrugging it off for now, Vivian removes the immobulus charm for just long enough to give Lily entrance. She waltzes right in, same as James, not seeming to realize the fact that she is even now in the midst of being pranked. Vivian rolls her eyes at Evans' lapse in judgement and proceeds to slam the door shut once more, quickly casting the immobulus charm on it again. Then, stepping back, she ignores Lily's surprised shouts when she realizes she's just been locked inside a classroom with James, and turns to eye Sirius curiously.

"What did you tell her?" she wonders.

Sirius smirks, trying and failing to look innocent. "Oh, just that you and I were heading down to dinner and we caught a couple of younger students doing illegal drugs in there."

Vivian raises an eyebrow. "Huh. That explains her reaction to finding out Potter was here first…"

Sirius only snickers, and throws an arm over her shoulders. "So, what did you tell James, then?"

Vivian rolls her eyes. "That Lily was being harassed by my fellow Slytherins. He made it incredibly easy."

They glance at each other, then they both burst into laughter – which naturally draws the attention of the two occupants of the room, who are still attempting to regain their stolen freedom.

_"Let us out of here, you two!" _James calls (though he doesn't sound like he means it very much).

_"I'LL BE INFORMING MCGONAGALL AND SLUGHORN ABOUT THIS!" _Lily roars (sounding like she _does_ mean it).

Vivian rolls her eyes again and pulls out several pieces of parchment from her pocket. Sirius, confused, watches her crouch down in front of the door and begin feeding the papers beneath it. The shouting stops as she does. Apparently, James and Lily are a bit too curious for their own good.

"What's that you're slipping them?" Sirius wonders. This, whatever it is, hadn't been a part of their plan. But Vivian just sends him a smirk that makes her look so mischievous, Sirius's heart does a crazy little twist in his chest, and she pulls open one of the papers to recite:

_"James Potter once bought Lily flowers_

_But regardless of timing or hour,_

_She threw them away_

_Well, what can I say?_

_His Lily is very empowered."_

Sirius immediately barks out a loud laugh. Inside the room, it sounds like a struggle is occurring. James is probably trying to wrestle the limericks out of Lily's reach, because a moment later, he's exclaiming, _"PRIDE YOU TRAITOR!"_

Vivian snorts, and calls back, "I've got copies of every one of them, Prongs!"

_"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'D DO THIS TO ME."_

_"QUIET, JAMES, I'M TRYING TO READ."_

_"DON'T READ THAT ONE – THAT WAS A REALLY BAD ONE – "_

Sirius snickers and crouches down next to her to unfold another. Vivian leans over his shoulder to see which one he's got, and snickers too when Sirius reads it out loud, practically belting it from the top of his lungs so that James and Lily can hear him:

_"There once was a girl with red hair_

_And green eyes too bright to compare._

_But beauty is not_

_Everything that she's got,_

_For her mind is even more fair."_

A moment later, he shrugs and says to Vivian, "I don't know, that one isn't awful, is it?"

Vivian shrugs back and replies, "Take a look at this one if you want awful."

The grin that overcomes Sirius's face when he takes the next one from her is absolutely wicked. There is nothing quite like pranking a friend and laughing at their expense, you know.

_"James Potter (that's me) is in love_

_With a girl whose as pale as a dove_

_That isn't an insult –_

_Though it sounds like an insult…_

_I guess I'm just not cut out to be a poet."_

Sirius bursts into laughter. Vivian isn't very far behind. The current occupants of the room hear them.

_"I WILL GET YOU BOTH BACK FOR THIS ONE DAY!" _James shouts through the door.

Sirius's only response to this is to shove the awful limerick under the door and wait. Him and Vivian both burst out into renewed laughter when James realizes which one it is.

_"DON'T READ THAT ONE EITHER – NO DON'T READ THAT ONE, LILY – "_

As a ruckus fills the classroom, no doubt from James's attempts at wrangling the awful limerick out of Lily's hands, Vivian reaches into her robes again and pulls out a quill, a spare bit of parchment, and an inkpot. She uncaps it with a flourish and writes_, "Have a nice dinner."_

Sirius chuckles and takes the quill to add, _"Give James a chance, Lilyflower."_

They share an amused glance before Sirius pushes it beneath the door, and a brief silence falls within the classroom as the occupants read the message. A moment passes, and then…

_"Well, we might as well eat something, at least," _James's voice sounds, half hopeful and half embarrassed.

Vivian only snickers. He _really_ ought to be thanking her for this.

"So, wanna go down to the kitchens to finish up this brilliant date?" Sirius asks as they step away from the door.

"If this is a date, then it's the worst one ever," she breezily informs him, but merely begins to walk back to the grand staircase to where the kitchens are located. Sirius scoffs playfully and falls into step beside her.

"Excuse me, I put a lot of thought into this," he says. Once they reach the main corridors of the castle, other students join them, but they go into the Great Hall and dine with their fellow students. Vivian and Sirius, though, break off to head towards the kitchens some corridors away.

As they arrive at the portrait and Vivian reaches up to tickle the pear, she quirks an amused smile and drawls, "Oh? Then maybe you're more of a gentleman than I thought."

Sirius puts a hand on his chest and in a voice full of mock-outrage, splutters, "Oi, I am _not_ a gentleman. I don't appreciate such slanderous remarks."

They step inside and stare at each other for several seconds before Vivian tries to shove him. Sirius barks out another laugh and curls an arm around her waist. The next moment, though, his laughter dies down as they are interrupted by several dozen house-elves, who look quite excited to have company despite their mad rush to finish up with dessert preparations.

"Master Black! Are you here for more lemon squares? Chocolate cake? Pumpkin pasties?"

Vivian's expression turns a bit unimpressed. Sirius catches sight of it and clears his throat, "Er – no, no. I was actually thinking of – er, what d'you think, Vivian?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "I think you're a fat pig."

Sirius throws an arm around her shoulder and, ignoring this completely, sighs, "Maybe some roast chicken? What do Slytherins eat, anyway? Blood pudding? Goats?"

Vivian rolls her eyes at him and mutters, "Sirius, I swear to Merlin – "

He barks out another laugh and concedes, "Some roast chicken, then. If it's not too much trouble, of course." He eyes the bustling kitchens with a slightly wary expression, but the house-elves nearly trip over themselves to accommodate the request. Sirius turns to Vivian to shrug, "They're a bit unnerving, aren't they?"

Vivian rolls her eyes once more. "No, they're perfectly normal. You just grew up around a barmy house-elf."

Sirius shrugs again and mutters, "That's true enough," before hauling her over to the large fire that spans a portion of the far wall. They sit down on a bench in front of it to wait for their dinner.

"Anyway, back to what I was saying," Sirius says, turning to her with a roguish smile, "this is definitely a brilliant date and I've put a lot of thought into it."

Vivian's only response to this is to drawl, "Please. Only a proper gentleman would put thought into a date, and since we've already concluded that you _aren't_ one…"

She shrugs and sends him a challenging glance.

He sighs at her. "You do make a good point," he concedes, "but I suppose that only a proper lady would care, so it makes no difference."

She eyes him. "Are you saying I'm not a proper lady, Black?"

Sirius grins at her. "That's precisely what I'm saying, Blair."

This time, she succeeds at shoving him, and Sirius probably would've fallen off the bench if it isn't for the way he curls an arm around her waist to regain his balance (that is, obviously, his only reason). They both break out into laughter, but it dies down somewhat when he adds, "A high-born lady would never hang around with someone like me."

His mouth is edged up into a smile, but it suddenly seems a bit halfhearted, as if saying these words takes a certain amount of fortitude. Vivian turns her head to look at him, catching his eye. There's a subdued sheen to them that doesn't quite match up with his smile. Vivian doesn't immediately respond, because at first she isn't sure what to say. She isn't in the habit of saying the right thing. She much prefers to do the opposite. Still, she can't quite stop herself this time, because after all, she does rather like Sirius Black.

"…I can't imagine why," she murmurs, turning her eyes back to the fire so as to avoid looking at him directly. Another amused smile captures her. "Who _wouldn't_ want to be with a rebellious, unintelligent Gryffindor who prances around the school like he's god's gift to women?"

Sirius pauses, stares at her, and chuckles, "You know, Vivian, just once I'd like to hear you say something that isn't at all insulting."

She glances at him, studies the lighter way he's looking at her, and turns to face him fully. "Okay then," she breathes, much to his surprise. He doesn't seem to be expecting her to actually listen, because he eyes her as if he's wondering whether she's going to insult him again. But she doesn't. Instead, she merely says, "I would rather be with you than be a proper, high-born lady anyhow."

He definitely isn't expecting this, because he can't seem to remember how to speak at all, and just stares at her in quiet surprise as the light from the fire flickers across their faces. Then, he swings a leg over the bench so that he's straddling it, reaches to take her hands, and grins, "That was much better."

The look he sends her makes her breathing turn slightly shallower.

"…Was it?" she whispers, and edges closer.

He hums, sitting quite still as she reaches up to trace her fingers over his jaw. It's a light, feathery touch, but he feels it in the deepest parts of him.

"Seeing as neither of us are very good at being proper purebloods, I think we should stick together," she tells him, lifting her other hand to join the first and tilting his head towards hers.

Sirius swallows, shuffles closer, and breathes, "Yeah?"

She swallows too, and breathes, "Definitely," before tilting her chin up to kiss him.

He breathes out and pulls her against him with a grin. "I'm glad we're of the same mind," he murmurs, and kisses her back.

* * *

On the last day at Hogwarts, the Marauders set up fireworks in nearly every corridor (much to the fury of Filch), which go off whenever someone begins to walk down it. It's not until the end of term feast that evening that their main prank occurs, though. Vivian isn't sure how they did it because they've refused to tell her, but she reckons they must've coerced the house-elves into letting them tamper with the spell that sends the food to the tables. The moment the food appears, the fireworks also appear, shooting out of the plates and going off all over the Great Hall. Vivian narrowly dodges a large firework that would have otherwise gone off right in her face, but many aren't as lucky. As students begin digging in, many of them are sporting soot marks on their hands and faces, and some of them have singed hair and eyebrows. Slughorn especially looks quite unkempt, having not expected to be pelted in the face by a series of smaller sparklers upon leaning over to reach for a platter of roast beef. The staff table has been treated with far more fireworks than any other (with the exception of Slytherin), but Dumbledore seems to be the only one who is enjoying the display. He leans back and calmly reaches for his goblet, chuckling.

Vivian does have to admit that she is beginning to feel a bit bittersweet about leaving Hogwarts, during that final feast. After tonight, she will no longer wear this uniform, or walk through these corridors, or find solitude in the dormitory she has slept in these past seven years. Though she is not a sentimental person by nature, she feels rather nostalgic already, as she looks up at the floating candles far above them, and around at the faces of her fellow students. She almost can't believe that the year went by so quickly; can't believe, either, that so much has changed since the start of the first term. How far she has verged from the path she thought was hers. How much she has changed!

But some things are worth changing for. Is that not the way of life, after all? To survive, one must transform, and as Vivian gathers the last of her belongings and makes her way towards the Hogwarts Express for the final time, she thinks she's rather proud of herself for it.

Elizabeth once said: "Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure," and Vivian will have many memories here within these walls – and many more too, outside of them, but that is for another story, and another day.

"Ready?" Sirius asks her, falling into step beside her as she heads towards the carriages. Behind him, the other Marauders follow, with Lily in tow.

Vivian lifts her chin, shoots him a quiet smile, and says, "Of course."

And, though the tides of Fate still move beyond her vision, she thinks in that moment that she is ready for anything.


	61. Epilogue

**Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this story, waited patiently for updates, favorited and followed, and took the time to leave comments and constructive feedback. As always, it's been a joy! This concludes the end of Vivicendium Season 1. The prologue of Season 2 will be posted next Sunday, and then we will resume weekly updates as we get into Vivian and Sirius's story post-Hogwarts. Season 2 will be posted under a new title, so make sure you all check my profile come Sunday to find it!**

* * *

**Epilogue **

Number 12 Grimmauld Place is exactly as she remembers it to be: dark and sinister. As a young woman, Vivian had hated this place. Now, she hates it even more. The moment she slips into the house, the demons she had locked away come to rattle at their cages. She sees herself here in this corridor, pale and withdrawn; a shaky youth living beneath the watchful eye of its matriarch. The house had been at its zenith, then, but it seems to have fallen into a state of disrepair since last she was here. She thinks it strangely compelling, that the paper on the walls are peeling and the curtains are dingy and moth-eaten. Now, this house truly reflects the dismal qualities that Vivian has always likened it to, when she lived within these dour halls.

Despite it being many years since she had last stepped through this door, it feels like it was yesterday. A long corridor stretches from the front door. If she continues down it, she will pass a sitting room on the right and a linen cupboard on the left. A second door will open up to a dining room. To her immediate right lies the tapestry room. Orion would often take dinner guests into that room for drinks. Power plays had been a regularity; the better to show off the Black family's strong, pureblood heritage. A bitter, claustrophobic feeling captures Vivian at the thought, so she shoves it into one of the cages within her mind and locks it away.

It isn't as easy to lock away everything else, though. Memories burn behind her eyes, staggering her. She sees black hair and an iron gaze softened into a smile. She hears tentative murmurs exchanged in the study upstairs, pages being turned and quills scratching against parchment. Books littered around the library floor, stacked upon the mantlepiece, laying open on the upholstered chairs. Underlined words and excited voices as realizations are made; sharp shouts from the upper landing as Walburga snaps at them to keep it down.

Nasty woman. She hadn't much liked Vivian.

"_Traitorous whore," _she'd say. _"First one son, now the next. After the family gold, if you ask me…"_

Vivian's lip curls at the memory. She shakes off her traveling cloak and drops it onto the coat rack.

Yes, this place looks exactly the same. Still dark, still gloomy, and still depressing. The only thing that's changed is the thick amount of dust that seems to layer upon every surface. It's been years since Vivian had last been here, but she remembers it being much cleaner. Kreacher must have forgotten what a broom is. He's probably been too busy talking to Walburga's portrait on the landing upstairs to think about dusting. Even on a canvas, the woman is still a tyrant, and Kreacher still unnaturally attached to her.

Her memories of this place are still swirling potently through her mind's eye, but all of them come crashing to a sudden stop when she hears a bark of laughter from the rooms within. It's muffled and faint, but the moment she hears it, she falters just so, and has to lean against the table by the front door as it washes over her. Her heart, heavy as it is these days, shakes as if it has cast off its shroud of cold madness and has taken once more the illusion of fragility. All at once she is pale and withdrawn again; the shaky youth, grieving against her unforgivable fate.

She had expected this, of course. She is prepared for it. You see, there is nothing like the sting of lost love to sharpen the spirit. Nothing like grief, hard and cold, to force you from the idyllic realms of youth. The moment you acquaint yourself with the taste of it, what innocence you once possessed will never be quite the same. Innocence is a tarnished thing, now, if it does indeed exist at all within the skeletal remains of Vivian Blair's heart.

Dry and hollow, it is, burgeoning with vengeance.

She sets her shoulders back and composes her expression into supreme pureblood haughtiness. Memory is what this house is made of, but it is not what _she_ is made of. She is not the Vivian Blair who had once walked these corridors. Perhaps she is not even Vivian Blair at all, but a ghost of herself come to haunt the rooms that once existed in her nightmares, before she cast those away, too.

She feels a bit like a ghost as she takes a step forward and listens as that harrowingly familiar laugh sounds once more. She never thought she would see him again, and yet Sirius is here, at the end of this corridor, so close that she need only walk the length of it and open the door…

Her fingertips alight over the doorknob of the sitting room, the linen cupboard, the dining room, as if she is afraid that she may stumble. She pauses before a dusty mirror, considers for a moment that perhaps she should turn to ensure that her haughty expression is still there, that she is still the version of herself that she has spent the last decade perfecting; a stronghold of intense winter, blurring over the pieces of herself that no longer exist. But when she turns her head, the dust is too thick, and the only thing she sees are the muddy brown eyes that stare back at her from the glass, condescending and arrogant, and so cold that they seem to know no warmth.

She reaches up to smooth down the elegantly twisted hair and hesitates for a moment on the slight creases near her eyes, which press into existence during rare smiles and elusive laughter. She is caught for several seconds upon an inexplicable wariness, which fills the bottommost corners of her so thoroughly that it seems to halt her breath. She doesn't often study herself quite as meticulously as she does now. Have those creases always been there? Has her hair always looked so flat and dull?

Before she can let her sudden apprehensiveness plague her further, Vivian shutters in a deep breath and turns away to look upon the door that now looms before her. Why should she worry about her appearance? She is not the girl she once was; not the person Sirius Black remembers. That girl is gone. She takes another breath, settles her shoulders back, and lifts her chin just so. No, she is not the Vivian Blair of times gone by. Change has had its reckoning upon her, as it does to all things living.

It is a strange thing, fate. So insensible; so unfeeling. Its broken pieces lend an illusion of logic, but at the end of the day, there is nothing rational about it. Vivian Blair has long since cast those illusions off.

She reaches forward to turn the doorknob, and silences her demons with a cold twist of her mouth.

These days, she makes her own fate.

**THE END…for now**


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